Dirt
by time-warps
Summary: A broke university student, Nora, and her so-called friends make an attempt at spending their spring break in Los Santos but can only afford to rent out a trailer in Sandy Shores. On their first night there she encounters Trevor, a despicable man who just happens to be a kindred spirit. Rated M for all the fun stuff: Sex, drugs, strong language, violence, murder. Trevor x OC.
1. The Janitor's Closet

A dingy fight-torn bar that would have more appropriately been christened The Janitor's Closet; why would they take me here? A gin soaked countertop with knifed etchings of initials enclosed by scratchy hearts and hazy games of hangman spelling out profanities; this was probably the only place they could find within walking distance of the cheapskate trailer we rented out from a man whose name made him sound as if he were conceived in a truck-stop restroom. This was a bar where the only things on the menu were bags of chips from the 1930s and the entrées consisted of dusty peanuts homed in an ashtray.

We had arrived by bus so late at night that there was no time to make our way into the city to slide our backsides against strangers whilst winking at other strangers in expectance of free vodka shots. No, it was far too late to catch a bus over only to risk missing the bus back to this desolate wasteland the locals call Sandy Shores, we had hardly enough money as it is without having to pay for some star spangled hotel room in the downtown district. Without any time for such foolish endeavours this night could only take us to one place, this bar, because there was simply so much loss in a night spent sober on a vacation (if one could call it that) lasting only 7 days.

I was absolutely famished from the long road trip over but the aroma of sweat and desperation only nauseated me. What I needed more than anything was a drink, because it is only logical that the more brain cells one looses the happier they will become, and I had far too many doing laps in my head to find anything remotely enjoyable about this place.  
"Are we just going to stand here or do you not plan of getting alcohol poisoning tonight?" I asked my two companions, who at the moment I might only reluctantly refer to as my friends.

"Is that even a question?" Quinn replied bitterly. Even with a confirmation of our plans none of us would dare to take the first step into what was akin to a dumpster.

"Well then I guess it's time to go dumpster diving." I proclaimed with false enthusiasm. Jade and Quinn eyed me with some distaste, we were all far too tired not to be drunk by this time of night.

Still they hesitated, and so came my decision to take the initiative to stride forward on chipped tile towards a 60-some year old barmaid with eyebrows drawn on such that there was no telling whether she was frowning at me or had drawn on a permanent frown.

"We'll take 3 vodka-cranberries, please."

"No cranberry juice here. It's straight or nothing sweetie, we've also got beer." I felt like a fool for even asking and felt as if I may have offended everyone in Sandy Shores for having been so ignorant to trailer park culture. Luckily there was no one in the vicinity that appeared to be conscious enough to have heard me.

"Ah. Well then, straight vodka it is." My companions snickered behind me.

Without even a glance at me she shuffled over to the liquor shelves, stocked mainly with whisky, gin and the occasional bottle of moonshine or absinthe. Contrary to the usual bar scene she did not give us shot glasses but instead poured our drinks into glasses you might expect to be found at a restaurant. No ice, no water. Though the thought made my stomach churn I knew that soon enough I would lose my faculty of taste and reason and not care in the slightest.

"Thank you." I said as sincerely as I could. She gave a nod but did not make eye contact.

We toasted to the beginning of what I doubted would be a pleasant vacation. I took a gulp from the yellowed glass and tried my hardest not to gag and further embarrass myself. My companions did the same. The artifact of a radio was tuned to some local country station probably being broadcast in the attic of this very building, and the sound of twanging banjo strings and weary wailing about old ladies and trucks forced me to take another swig of vodka.

After a grey-bearded man collapsed from his chair and was pushed into the corner of the room we had been granted a table big enough to seat the 3 of us. By this point in the night the bar crowd had grown to an astounding 7 people, which I suppose is impressive for this time of night, unless of course this has always been the prime hour for The Janitor's Closet. Besides our group and the man sleeping (or dead) with drool pouring out of his mouth onto the floor, there were two men speaking incoherently at the table beside us and one man slouched over the bar countertop clutching a beer in his hand as if it held the secrets to all of life's mysteries. By this time my companions and I were finding much of this very amusing and chatting loudly about the shitty camper we had rented, which was likely much nicer than any home belonging to the bar's occupants.

"Come on sugar, it's just for one drink, I _promise _I won't start anything this time. I can make it worth your while, how about 20 dollars, hmm? I'll share my beer with you, come on, _please_." It was about 2 o'clock in the morning when a tender sarcastic voice pleaded from the front entrance.

"How many times have I told you, you've caused too much trouble around here, now get out!" The barmaid argued in vain, her words were drawn out with fatigue.

"Lucy," he spoke her name slowly and with utmost love, "My darling, my angel, I need something to drink, it's been a long day Luce, you know how it is. I'll be good, I swear." I brought my thoughts away from my conversation to focus on what was unfolding at the entry way.

"Trevor," Lucy sighed with an obvious hint of affection through her stern smokers voice, "You pull this horse-shit every time you drag your sorry ass into this place, can you at least try not to break anything tonight?" She pleaded to him with the genuine exasperation of a woman left to clean broken glass and blood stains until odd hours of the morning every day.

At this he dropped onto one knee as if taking a knights vow, "Luce, I swear to you with every muscle in my ugly heart that I will not break anything tonight." He grabbed at her hand and planted a dry kiss on it, "Now where's my beer, sugar?"

The whole scenario made me grin, making me feel almost as if I should empathize with this filthy liar rather than old haggard Lucy who might as well have spent her entire life behind a dirty bar counter-top serving drinks to men with blackened livers and missing teeth. I took a sip from my glass to stifle my snickering, wondering how on earth I had ended up in such a place on my trip to lovely Los Santos, and feeling sorry for myself rather than others.

I swivelled in my chair to catch a glimpse of what, until how, had only been in the periphery of my vision. Trevor was more or less what I had expected him to be: middle-aged with tangles leading up to a receding hair-line, stubble and scars, stained torn t-shirt and dark circles, lines covering his face up to and including laugh-lines which told a story contrary to the rest of his appearance and finally a treacherous "cut here" tattoo dotted around his neck.

Beer in hand Trevor proceeded to drink it in its entirety slamming the bottle down onto the counter-top, "May I please have seconds?"

Without a word and with eyes half shut Lucy popped the cap of another cheap beer, sliding it in his direction, with no hint of hesitation he once again downed his poison.

"That's more like it, am I right Jim?" He nudged the man hugging the countertop and half asleep and then lets out a laugh. Poor old Lucy sighed and cracked open another one for her beloved Trevor before finding her spot on a barstool with red leather so worn it appeared brown in colour. Trevor continues to hassle the drunkard who is too inebriated to care.

"Excuse me," Quinn slurred, flicking the back of my head with a long red nail, "Do you plan on coming back to earth any time soon? Finish your damn vodka and get us some more drinks."

I turned around swiftly to glare at her, "Fuck you, I'm just trying to have a good time." And with that eloquent comeback I drank the rest of my glass in one fell swoop. My companions cheered me on to lift my spirits, and surprisingly my spirits had in fact been lifted, but presumably from three glasses of vodka rather than the cheering of individuals who I would still rather not refer to as my friends.

Feeling the might of a thousand Russian warriors flowing through my veins I stood up from my chair and made my way towards the bar, slowly and steadily so as through not to reveal the weakness of my alcohol tolerance.

"Another round of vodkas please." I managed to make myself sound somewhat sober and somewhat sophisticated, though there was little reason for anyone to sound sophisticated in a place like this and it might even risk getting you beat to a pulp. Upon second thought I decided to make a point never to speak like that again.

"Who are you?" Then came a sudden rude awakening from my attempted confidence, and it came from the man notorious enough to have to plead to be let into this bar- this bar filled with old drunks and men half alive.

Being somewhat intoxicated I blurted out the first thing that came into my head, "Who's asking?"

A wide grin stretched across his face and he replied with blatant arrogance, "Trevor Philips. Now I'll ask again, who are you?"

For some reason I couldn't help but smile and fail to repress it, "Why do you want to know?"

He turned his barstool to face me more directly, making sure to lean in uncomfortably close to me, so close I was able to make out every fine crevasse on the map of his face, "Well when a man frequents a bar he expects to see the same faces he's seen every night of every month of every God damn year. So doesn't it go without fucking saying that when 3 fine young women that are probably illegal to bang show up from God knows where, I'd like to know one of their names." At this I let out laugh in my drunken stupor.

"Oh, you find this funny don't you?" He snickers with a slow nod.

"No, I don't find this funny, I find you funny, you're quite funny." I managed to suppress my laughter and decided to try and turn the situation in favour of my companions and I, "I might tell you who I am if you buy us some drinks."  
Trevor began laughing at this, more laughter than I would have thought necessary and too much laughter for me to feel comfortable in any way, "Listen sugar, I'll buy you girlies your drinks all night as long as you sit with me."

"Girl, don't you even think about hanging around with this sack of shit, everything he touches goes sour." Lucy suddenly intervened.

Trevor smirked, "Luce, don't flatter me, I'm much worse than that, besides who ever said anything about touching? Unless I can get this fine lady drunk enough not to know the difference."

At this statement I lost all self control and erupted in silent laughter, I turned around so as not to offend Lucy and so as not to give Trevor any self satisfaction. I composed myself rather quickly and was actually quite proud of myself for doing so. "That sounds like a challenge to me." I said with all the boastfulness I could muster in my self-conscious little being.

"You hear that Lucy? You don't have to worry about her, she's already been turned sour." Trevor cackled. Lucy gave the both of us a look of utter disgust and at that moment I realized that I was now in the same boat as this distasteful man. "Another round of vodka, make it 4." He looked me directly in the eyes with a gaze that made me regret not ignoring him to begin with and a smile that made me want to run away and never look back.

"Why don't you go tell your lady friends that Uncle Trevor will be picking up the tab tonight, and that in return you've sold your soul to him. Does that sound about right to you?" He asked in a disturbingly mocking tone of voice.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," I replied in the same mocking tone, "I doubt I have a soul to sell anyways." Everything I was saying surprised even myself, it was probably the deadly mix of bitterness and vodka that allowed my deepest quips to flow so freely.

Trevor's grin widened more than I thought humanly possible, "I like you a lot already, and don't think of taking that as a compliment." Not an odd statement coming from such a man but it took me aback none the less, there was something about his smile that was friendly yet threatening and like an accident on a highway it was hard to look away from it.

Being in the vodka induced state of mind I was in, I'm sure my companions thought it rather strange of me trying to explain that I would be spending the rest of the night sitting next to the man who had minutes ago been revealed to us as a destructive drunk. I tried my absolute best to reason with them, explaining our money situation and how a night of free drinks would be highly beneficial to us and the rest of our so called vacation.

Quinn made it clear that she thought I was, "fucking insane," and Jade seemed too enthralled by the idea of an endless alcohol supply to care much at all. The two of them seemed to be in a good enough humour to take everything light heartedly, we always got along the best under the influence of strong liquor. The entire discussion ended with a shameless display of enthusiasm towards the generous man buying our booze, "To Trevor!" My companions exclaimed, rather unaware of anything but the crystal liquid in their cups; and as you can guess this was very much to Trevor's own amusement.

After toasting to our newest hero and sharing a laugh I decided to make my way over to the bar and fulfill my end of the bargain, after all I was still within a 5 meter radius of Quinn and Jade, and in my mind that meant nothing in the world could go wrong.

"Cheers to me," Trevor smirked, and I lifted my glass to meet his with a satisfying clink the likes of old friends burying the hatchet.


	2. Modern Day Shakespeare

After a satisfying sip of vodka and a long sigh Trevor asked the question I could no longer deny him the answer to, "Who are you?"  
"I'm a university student too broke to afford a spring break vacation and too self pitying to deny myself one. I guess that says just about everything. You know how friends are, luring you into things too good to be true and then next thing you know you're sleeping on the floor of a trailer they told you was cozy in a rustic sort of way while outside some drug riddled mind is screaming that he's being eaten alive by bats, which he may have very well been since I doubt the park has any form of pest control." Before I knew it I had indulged in an alcohol induced ramble and wasn't quite sure what the original point of my speech had been.

Trevor scoffed, "You know, your name would be nice. Your life story is nice too but to be honest I don't really give a shit." He let out a dry laugh, "I'm just fucking with you sugar-tits, but you're avoiding my question, now it's time to spit it out." He takes a large gulp of his drink.

There was something about the man that was oddly charming but that didn't stop me from scowling at him, "Fuck off, I was enlightening you on my true essence, and besides, _a rose by any other name_, you know, all that Shakespearian bullshit." I then burst out in a fit of giggles, admiring my own wit, rather amplified by my beverage of choice.

Trevor leaned in towards my face knowing that the best way to get information out of anyone is through the use of torture, "You'd be surprised how much of a Shakespeare connoisseur I am; I am indeed one savvy motherfucker. The man was full of shit, biggest thief out there. Now, without further ado, your name please."

I contorted my mouth slightly and huffed out a bit of air unable to cope with the burning proximity of our two beings for a moment longer, "Nora."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you Nora," He reached a hand out and touched mine, even through my intoxication my heart seemed to stop and I froze in place, "Was that so hard now?" He asked mockingly.

His hand was rough to the touch and even as it rested atop mine I could feel the mountainous plains of numerous scars, wounds piled on top of each other having learned to live with one another but never completely coexist. "You know if I'd of known you could seduce a girl just by holding her hand I would've saved myself a hell of a lot of sexual assault charges." He chuckled in a manner that confused me as to whether he was joking or so at peace with himself that the crimes of his past were fond memories of better days.

I pulled my hand away swiftly and sipped at my drink, hoping the alcohol would dull whatever anxieties were making themselves known in my brain. I tried to find whatever confidence I could and I found it in my vodka, "Not seduced, just drunk. You're giving yourself too much credit Trevor." My voice wavered as my little self conscious fears tried to escape my mouth; more vodka would fix this, so I sipped until my glass was empty. "Two more please." I stated without looking at Trevor as he drank the rest of his cup without hesitation and dropped it onto the counter next to mine.

The slow trickling warmth of my liquor made its way down to my stomach, burning ever so slightly, and as it did I felt my inhibitions leave my body and bidding me farewell. It was that kind of drunk when you're unsure of whether you want to lie down and sleep or get up and dance.

"Do you want to dance?" He suddenly asked, calmly, nonchalantly, as if he had been reading my mind. He very well might have been reading my mind and at the time it seemed like a very logical possibility, and that made me laugh. "You think I'm joking don't you?" He inquires with a smirk.

I allowed another laugh to escape, "No I don't, but that wasn't a part of the deal." I turned to face him with a twinge of excitement bubbling in my chest. I had no idea if this was eagerness or a sense of impending doom but either way whatever self-respecting part of my mind was still able to function was appalled at the fact that I felt even the slightest inclination to dance with this man.

"I didn't hear a no." Trevor mused melodically, "You know it's becoming more and more obvious that you're in love with me."

I scoffed almost gagging at his conclusion, "You _fucking _wish!" I proceeded to laugh warily as if I were making an attempt to humour a bearer of bad jokes and took another swig.

"Come on, pity this old prick and dance with him, I'm paying for your drinks after all." He reaches out an touches my hand in the same paralyzing manner as he had before, this time going as far as to grasp it in his own, "Don't make me beg now, sugar." For the second time that night he dropped from his stool onto one knee, "Nora my fair lady love, lovelier than a summer's day, lovelier than the darling buds of May, an eternal summer that shall not fade-"

"Okay, okay it's enough!" I covered my eyes with my hand, clumsily lacking in my perception of distance, while silently laughing and attempting to catch my breath. There was something about his gruff voice that made Shakespeare sound more beautiful than I had ever heard it recited. "You've proven yourself worthy, let us dance!" I exclaimed in an attempted accent of a pretentious Shakespearean actress, "You may rise noble knight."

"That's what I'm talking about! Now let's cut this crappy music and put on something that wasn't written by a guy whose parents are brother and sister." Trevor stood up briskly to make his way towards the artifact that was the radio, in the meantime I took this opportunity to check on my so called friends to make sure they were not looking upon me with too much scrutiny. To much of my content they seemed to be playing a game of football with crumpled napkins and howled with giggles at their own petty fun, unaware of little else.

An abrupt roar of static arose in the room as Trevor violently fiddled with various knobs on the radio, paying little attention to the discomfort of those in the room sober enough to give a damn. Without warning the man collapsed on the bar counter top, Jim, rose from his slumber like a mighty dragon whose golden goblet had been stolen and who was out for bloodthirsty vengeance. "The fuck is this bullshit, what happened to the music?" He blurted in-between hiccups verging on gags. His accent was so thick I could almost smell it, though that could have easily been the aromas of gin emanating from his every orifice and threatening to give anyone in the surrounding 5 meters a contact high.

"Jim, I'll tell you this one time and one time only, calm the _fuck _down. I like you Jim, just calm your fucking shit alright? I'm just changing the station." Trevor told him with a distinct threatening air to his voice, and though he raised his hands as if to protect himself everyone in the surrounding area knew that they were raised to fight.

"Trevor your fuckin' asshole," He stumbled towards Trevor slurring his words with his fists waving pathetically, "Why d'you always pull this bullshit, you fuckin' fucking fuck."

"I'm warning you Jim, don't fucking touch me, go sit your ass down on your piss soaked stool and, you know what, I'll buy you a beer okay, how about that Jim?" The anger in his voice rose sharply though his words were kind. Even from across the bar I could see his teeth clenched together and the veins in his neck swell with hot purple blood. Everything within my being told me he was boiling and that tonight was no exception to Trevor's history of breaking things in The Janitor's Closet.

With one last fatal stumble and still yelling incomprehensibly Jim swung his arm like a small child swatting a fly, and the rest happened so quickly that there was simply no time for my vodka-dampened mind to react.

Before I even had time to blink Trevor had swiftly grabbed the empty beer bottle on a nearby table and shattered it over the drunk man's skull, flinging tiny glass snowflakes in every direction. Next was the vacant chair, lifted as gracefully as a figure skater lifts his skating partner, and then violently striking Jim's backside and splintering old wood. Within the very same second Lucy leapt from her petrified state to scream with more vigour that I would have ever imagined her capable of, "Harry, Harry you lazy fucking drunk, get this piece of shit out of here!"

And then within the very next second the older gentleman I would have assumed to be dead, leaking bodily fluids on the stained tile, sprang to life from his home in the corner to embrace Trevor with the strength of 10 bull elephants and whisk him away from poor bloodied Jim, already unconscious on the floor.

"Let me the _fuck _go Harry! It was fucking self defence, Jim's a fucking lunatic!" He screamed and struggled, but evidently all of his might, which appeared to be quite a bit considering his recent battle, was nothing compared to the firm grip of Harry. It all happened in less than a minute, and I was completely and utterly stunned and Trevor had been dragged out of the bar, his screams fading into the distance.


	3. A Symphony of Crickets

I sat there feeling more empty than the beer bottles that littered the bar, and stared blankly towards the doorway as it swung open, then shut, then open as Harry reentered the room, short of the man he had just dragged out. We had only shared some insincere chatter so I had absolutely no idea how his absence suddenly made me feel as if a hole had been punctured in my chest.

I was drowned in the laughter of my drunk companions and the disgruntled groans of Lucy and Harry, I felt alone and sobered, which were both evil sentiments in my mind. Without a thought running through my head I jumped from my seat and ran towards the exit, with Quinn and Jade yelling after me to, "Come back!" and Lucy yelling after me to, "Pay up!"

Nothing seemed to matter to me except seeing Trevor, the man who had just beaten a lowly drunk to a bloody pulp for even the slightest threat of touching him. There was no justification to my actions and I couldn't decide whether that was due to my blood alcohol level or some mixed emotions I wasn't yet ready to confront.

The sound of my companion's laughter awoke within me a feeling of hurt and anger, as if they had been laughing at me and not Trevor. All I wanted was to get as far away from them as possible, to flee into a darkness in which they could never find me, and hopefully a darkness that Trevor had fled to many times before.

I slammed my open palms onto the rotted wood doorway, picking up chipped red paint on them as I did, and sprinted outside into the cold desert night. At first I was terrified that Trevor might have already been gone and I was perfectly still, trying to discover some trace of him. I found that trace in the sound of crunching stone and sand off in the distance, he hadn't walked far.

For reasons unknown to me he had taken to the desert in the opposite direction of the parking lot and facing away from the residential area of Sandy Shores. The night was bleak and grey and the only speck of anything that stood out was his white shirt, though it too was faded and stained. He took slow strides into the unknown, making me contemplate whether this was actually his home, and not some trailer or another back in the decaying park.

"Hey, hey wait!" I called after him frantically, more frantically than I had just reason to do so. He immediately stopped dead in his tracks, but took his sweet time in turning to face me, as if waiting for me to come to him rather than move backward. I continued my jog until I was only a few feet away, panting and nauseous from having shaken up my alcohol filled stomach.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing." He said, less of a question and more of an observation of my lunacy. He eyed me head to toe as if I were no longer the girl he had sweet-talked just moments earlier and instead the likes of those who had casted him away into the darkness. I couldn't help but feel slightly hurt but I simply didn't have enough energy in me to express it at the time.

I took a minute to catch my breath, Trevor did not watch me as I did, instead he stared into the distance towards the flickering neon sign atop the bar. I looked back towards the dumpster I had just fled; no one had bothered to follow me, and this left a deep sinking feeling within my core, a mixture of hatred and loneliness and that feeling one gets when you don't want to feel bad about people who don't care about you but simply cannot help it. "What do you think I'm doing Trevor? I came out to see you."

There was a moment of complete silence that felt like hours, and all that could be heard to us was the orchestra of dusty crickets inhabiting our surroundings. "Listen, you don't have to come see me, I'm fucking scum don't you realize that? Then again I could have guessed just by looking at you that you're a fucking idiot. Hell, I'm a pretentious asshole for even talking to you. Do you really think I haven't done this five thousand fucking times before? Do you _really_ think I need someone to pat my back and feel bad for me? Now kindly fuck off, go back now before I have to fucking drag you there."

His words didn't faze me, somehow I could hear no sincerity in them and instead a plea that had never been spoken. Hearing these insults for some reason just made me feel closer to him. I averted my gaze to the ground. "I don't want to go back to anything and I guess if you have to you can drag me there. I hate my friends and I'm pretty sure they don't give a rat's ass about me. So I'm here, this is where I want to be."

Once again silence overcame the two of us until finally, "You're a stubborn piece of shit you know that."

"That makes two of us." I replied instinctually, and finally looked up to meet his eyes. They were a murky mix of yellows and brows the likes of vomit consisting of Thanksgiving dinner, framed by unkempt browns furrowed into a scowl. It was at that moment that I wanted to be close to him, a stronger desire than any I had had to vacation to Los Santos, to have fun, to get trashed and impress strangers, to follow my friends from bar to bar; I moved forward to bridge the remaining gap between us. "Are you doing to drag me back to that shit hole or let me stay?"

His eyes seemed to flash with either madness or some other emotion, and as quickly as he had shattered a chair on a man's back he was on me, fingers pulling at the tangles in my hair and dried lips pecking at mine as if to suck the life from my body. He reeked of vodka and cheap beer but I suppose I did too, and the aromas that had revolted me just an hour ago were now luring me to grip the blades of his shoulders and cling to the bloodstains on his shirt.

There was nothing about this experience that I could have compare to anything in my life thus far. Not to give off the wrong impression, I had kissed a handful of guys in my lifetime, and I had even thought myself to have been in love once or twice, but nothing like this. Not that I was in love, and not that there was anything in particular about these kisses that made them different from others, it was something I couldn't quite put my finger on and that I had no intention of figuring out.

Nothing about this embrace was comfortable, as if some hypothetical puzzle master decided he was fed up of trying and began shoving mismatched pieces together angrily, and yet it felt more perfect than any other I had had. His callused hands crept up the back of my shirt like spiders made of stone and gently grabbed at the excess fat on my sides. At this I moved my hands towards the back of his neck and traced the dotted line around until my fingers finally met his chest, tracing patters in loose thread and unknown black splatters.

And then swiftly yet with grace I was flung to the ground, his arms cushioning what couldn't be cushioned by the soft sand. As I inhaled the night air brought with it the cloud of dust we had created and my lungs burst into a fit of coughing, and as if he has been breathing in dirt his entire life Trevor was unfazed, shifting his kisses instead to the tendons in my neck and then my collar bones.

I coughed until I could cough no more while every nerve in my body seemed to flutter up through my chest cavity and then into my head, mingling with whatever poison still lingered there. I wrapped both of my arms around the back of his neck to pull him back towards my face where I would them be free to touch every part of his lips with mine and slip my tongue into his mouth. He took it eagerly and squeezed my back tighter, compressing me enough to make me short of breath and more light-headed than I had ever been whilst drinking at bars.

With hands gripping the small of my back and nape of my neck he turned to one side, taking me with him so that we were now lying side by side in the dirt, intertwined like the tiny fibres of a caterpillar's cocoon and covered in a fine layer of dust. Everything slowed down to a standstill and once again the orchestra of crickets rehearsed their symphony, now accompanied by the haggard breath from our tired lungs.

It was about 7 o'clock in the morning when I woke up to the blazing Los Santos sun on my back like hot tar and my head resting on Trevor's bicep as he slept as peacefully as Sleeping Beauty, if Sleeping Beauty had a receding hair line and snored as loudly as a growling cougar.


	4. The King

Luckily I had slept with my back towards the rising sun and therefore spared myself much of the sun burn I could have possibly had. The back of my arms were pink and tender even though they had been shielded by the layer of sand and earth that covered my entire body.

I sat up abruptly and took a look at my surroundings; dried twigs lacking in leaves, rocks ranging in colours from grey to beige, shrubs that had long ago died but lived on none the less, and then there was Trevor. He appeared so peaceful, as if he had learned to sleep just about anywhere you could imagine him to.

I must admit that it had crossed my mind for a fraction of a second to get up and leave. The events of the previous night were hazy in my mind but the strange affection I felt for the man lingered. I was unsure of how to go about waking him up, or if I should attempt to wake him up at all. His snores were menacing, like a fierce animal rendered harmless in hibernation, but I knew that I had to leave this place and I wouldn't be leaving without him.

I lifted my hand and let it linger above his arm where my head had rested, hesitant with a twinge of fear I convinced myself that since I had been in contact with him for a number of hours this would be no different. I allowed my hand to fall onto his arm, "Trevor." I could only muster a whisper even though there was nothing around us that would have been disturbed by my voice.

He was largely unresponsive to this so I slid my hand onto this shoulder and shook it ever so slightly. At this he turned to his other side, mumbling incomprehensibly and shrugging my hand off of him. "Trevor!" I shoved at his backside with a little more force before moving backwards and positioning myself in a stance of self protection with arms outstretched in front of me.

"Fuck off." He grumbled without turning around, much less of a climactic reaction than I had expected.

Whether he knew where he was or who was so rudely shoving him I did not know, I let my defences down and crawled back towards him, setting my hand down more tenderly on his side. "It's Nora, I need a lift back to my trailer because my asshole friends are nowhere to be found and if I'm out here for a minute longer I'm likely to burst into flames."

With a groan Trevor lifted himself into a sitting position, squinting at the merciless desert sun with disdain, "Oh yeah." He stated without looking at me, "Well let's go then." He stood up abruptly and dusted the sand off of his pants as if that would do any good for their level of cleanliness, then began making his way back towards the now empty parking lot.

I was taken aback by how nonchalant he appeared to be and found myself still sitting cross-legged on the ground as he walked away, "Do you plan on sitting here all day sugar-tits? Because if that's your plan I'll just come by and pick you up later once I'm good and drunk." The thought of getting drunk again made the headache I hadn't yet noticed quite apparent in my skull. I brought myself to my feet and followed him warily, wondering if he remembered nearly as much about the night before as I did.

"Where are you staying?" He inquired while kicking a stone oddly shaped like a head which was blocking the path of his shoe; he gazed back at me for a moment.

"A trailer on the corner of Mountain View and Algonquin, pretty close to here." I informed him while keeping my eyes averted to the ground.

He gave no response and when I looked to meet his face Trevor grinned at me, the same shit-eating grin from the previous night. It's embarrassing to have to admit but I found comfort in it, suddenly feeling much less alone. "Well shit, that's right near my place, would you like a grand tour of the neighbourhood? I know a guy who does a great Elvis impression after he's shot up."  
There was nothing more I would rather see than a decrepit Elvis junkie but I knew that I the sooner that I faced Quinn and Jade the less likely I would be viciously attacked by them for making them think I had been murdered by an eccentric drunk and had lost my share of our precious party money in doing so. "That sounds spectacular, but I need to check in with my friends, they've probably assumed you killed me and had your way with my body." I laughed.

Trevor scoffed, "Trust me, I wouldn't have it any other way but then you had to go and soften me up with vodka. I guess it isn't too late for me to strangle you and molest your body though right?"

"Of course not, what kind of a man would you be if you gave up that easily." I gave him a smile to which he smiled back, more sweetly that the subject matter of our conversation.

Trevor drove a flaking red pick up with no roof, it was a literal representation of himself in truck form. I couldn't help but wonder how often it rained in Sandy Shores but at the same time I knew he was not one to care about getting wet. It didn't surprise me that the doors were unlocked nor did it surprise me that the truck was lacking in seat-belts, I doubted Trevor had ever been concerned with his own safety and much less the safety of others.

We took to the roads which were largely unpopulated for 7 in the morning, leading me to make the assumption that not many people around these parts had day jobs, making me pity their money situation but envy their sleeping situation. After 4 hours of sleeping in a pile of pebbles I think I would have envied anyone that had access to a mattress, even if they made their money through the most despicable means possible.

It was a very short drive before we pulled up to the dilapidated trailer I despised so much, with beer cans littered on the lawn and an awning riddled with holes and wasps nests. I wanted more than anything to tell Trevor to drive away as fast as his truck would allow him and hide me somewhere where only he could find me.

"Wait here in case they decide to murder me first, I wouldn't want to take your kill away from you." I hopped out of the passenger's seat and closed the door carefully behind me, as if even the slightest of sounds would awaken my much feared companions. I gave Trevor one last glance with the same sinking feeling as if it were my last.

Each step towards the rusted fold out stairs made my heart skip a beat, and I was unsure exactly what was causing such anxiety. I knew Trevor was much more likely to murder me in cold blood than they ever would be, yet I didn't want to face their cold condescending glares. Murder would be preferable to the shun I would soon face.

The tiny aluminum stairs threatened to give away as I stood on them, groaning with protest. I raised my hand slowly and knocked on the door, telling myself they would be more glad too see me alive than disgusted with my entire being.

I knocked four times and there was no response, but I could hear them shuffling around inside like a fish agitated by a young child tapping at the glass siding of its aquarium. "I can hear you in there! Come on, I'm sorry. I came as soon as I woke up!" I pleaded with less sincerity than I should have. I felt almost as if I had done nothing wrong and wondered whether or not I was a terrible person.

The door swung open swiftly and with force causing me to lose balance and almost fall down the flimsy steps. "Nora you fucking idiot, take your stuff and get the fuck out of my face, I don't want to see you right now. You know we thought you were dead right? That that lunatic took you out back in the desert wilderness and slit your throat? Now fuck off." Quinn picked up my obnoxious green duffle bag and shoved it into my chest causing me yet again to almost fall backwards. "Come back when you learn the meaning of friendship you fucking bitch."

And like that the door was slammed shut and I was left pounding with my weak fists over and over; hard enough to try and tug at their heartstrings with my attempt to get back in, yet soft enough not to cause any damage to the trailer resulting in extra disdain towards yours truly.

There was nothing I wanted to have to do less than turn back around and face the so called lunatic who had been kind enough to give me a lift back to the trailer, but I simply had no other option. The smile on his face was that of someone trying their absolute hardest not to laugh but failing miserably. At least he was trying to spare my feelings.

"Do you wanna go see Elvis?" He asks with a pathetic smirk before bursting into a fit of laughter, hardly able to finish his sentence and mispronouncing Elvis. I didn't know whether I wanted to slap him or kiss him and was too afraid to do either.

"Yes." Was the only reply I could muster, the possibility of watching someone else's terrible life sounded more lovely to me than anything else I could have imagined. Then again if I started shooting heroine and impersonating the King my quality of life would undoubtably be lovelier than it was at the moment.


	5. Part-time Model

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Trevor inquired as we were driving away from the land I was now exiled from until I learned the meaning of _friendship _as if I were some grouch-like character from a children's picture book.

"I guess not, considering I'd be dying of starvation somewhere in the desert without you." I replied with the sarcasm of a woman scorned.

Trevor eyed me warily as if speaking to a toddler short of their nap, "Why do you hang out with them? They could have easily come out and looked for you last night, they're both being fucking selfish."

"Well, it was my choice to leave and it was my responsibility to come back. They would never make the effort to do anything for me, and to be honest I'm pretty sure they've been searching for a reason to upset me for a while now, I'm also pretty sure they've been catching on to the fact that I hate them." At this I snickered even though there was nothing funny about what I had concluded, to be honest I hadn't admitted any of that to myself until that very moment, leaving me with a deep nauseating emptiness in my stomach.

I would have been an idiot to believe that the look on Trevor's face was empathetic but I liked to believe that I caught a hint of it, nothing in my life had probably compared to the hardship he had had in his own. I was a university student, with a part time job, who had mustered up some money for a spring vacation, and everything about my situation screamed American middle class, something which Trevor probably hadn't tasted in a very long time.

"Nora," When he spoke my name it almost came as a surprise, the sound of sincerity in his voice was almost startling and I felt myself go tense in my seat, "Your friends are assholes. If I know anything, it's assholes; I've known more than enough of them in my life and, well, I'm one of the biggest assholes out there. Come with me, we'll laugh at some addicts high off their asses and we'll grab some beer and get fucking sandwiches. Forget about your friends."

His speech made me wonder where he had been all of my life, it gave me an ounce of self worth that I had desperately needed for months. "Can you please be my motivational speaker?"

Trevor let out an abrupt laugh, a simple 'ha' without looking in my direction, "It's about fucking time someone listened to my ancient wisdom."

He took me to an abandoned strip including but not limited to a diner, a barber and a grocer. We parked in front of a man slouched over a couple of torn trash bags and murmuring under his breath, it was the King himself, and we gave him 5 dollars to lift our spirits and sing us a terribly butchered version of _Heartbreak Hotel. _

He knew all of the lyrics, I gave him that much, and he did very much lift my spirits so I decided to give him an extra 5 to which he replied, "Thank you, thank you very much," in an Elvis-esque fashion. Trevor pulled a crumpled 20 out of his sweat-pant pocket and threw it at the despicable fellow, "Go buy yourself some of the good stuff, your rhythm is fucked on whatever cheap shit you've been shooting."

As we turned away from the homeless King and made our way to the truck I was surprised to feel an arm interlock with mine, of course it was Trevor's. I had to make an effort to conceal my enthusiasm that he had not abandoned any feelings he may or may not have had for me, and I allowed myself to hold his hand and intertwine our fingers, feeling the map of calluses I had been missing.

I turned my head ever so slightly to catch even the smallest hint of emotion on his haggard face. Not surprisingly he had his head turned away as if observing some other event that had yet to exist. "Let's grab something to eat." He stated, still staring into the distance.

We walked into the diner whose trash Elvis had been sleeping on, it looked to have been abandoned for years with the exception of the smell of fresh grease that filled it. The dusty grey blinds let the morning sun in as a dim yellow haze, illuminating the grime that covered everything inside as well as tiny particles in the air. I felt as if I were in a movie about a post-apocalyptic future where the only thing that lingered were strips of sentient bacon that had learned to cook themselves.

Trevor let his hand slip away from mine and he strode towards the empty cash with determination. Slamming his fists onto the speckled blue countertop he yelled, "Customers here, _hello, _we'd like to fund this shitty excuse for a business in exchange for some food."

From behind the kitchen door came an older gentleman with a yellow tint to the whites of his eyes and a grey tint to the white of his hair. His eyebrows were silver and sparse forming tiny striped patterns on his forehead that far out-shined the dull grey of his irises. His apron was so incredibly smeared with grease and colours that I could only guess as to what their sources might be that I was surprised I could have even recognized it as an apron.

"Yeah what is it you want?" He grumbled miserably as if he would have much rather sat in his lowly kitchen all day and make no money whatsoever than serve a single ill-mannered customer such as Trevor, or a large percentage of the population of Sandy Shores for that matter.

Trevor slouched over the counter on both elbows like a boy who had yet to learn how to properly behave in a restaurant, "I'd like some bacon, some sausage, uh, some ham, eggs, scrambled, some bread, uh, some hash browns, uh, yeah."

"And you?" The cook nodded lazily in my direction likely eager to have us out of his sight and out of his mind. It was at this moment that I realized I hadn't eaten anything since lunch the previous day and that I was just about ready to devour anything that came within a 2 meter radius of my mouth.

"The exact same." I replied immediately, feeling some pity for the man; being someone who enjoyed solitude myself I wanted to simplify the order so that he wouldn't have the displeasure of being in our company for much longer.

Without a word he turned back to his kitchen, his chamber of self-reflection, and began to prepare our banquet. I followed Trevor to a nearby booth plastered in decaying orange leather faded by the sun and a scuffed up plastic table. I could only imagine what the two of us looked like. I assumed Trevor always appeared to be quite dusty and unkempt but to have myself beside him, in the flowing purple top I always wore to bars, dressed somewhat presentably but now covered in dirt from head to toe with tangled hair and faded eyeliner. We must have been a sight to see.

"You know you're absolutely gorgeous?" Trevor asked me as if he had once again been reading my mind, filled with self-conscious thoughts of how unappealing I must have looked at the moment.

I let out a laugh, "Is this more sarcasm or what? I look like fucking shit right now."

"No, no, no, you look high fashion, like you know those chicks in the magazines? It takes hours of hair and makeup to achieve what you have going on now, the real dirty look, you know? You could be a part-time model or something." He used excessive hand gestures to shape hair and makeup and high fashion, making me smile stupidly.

"Oh, only part-time? What about the other half of the time, I'm not good enough to make a living off of my looks, eh?" I let out even more laughter, feeling completely flattered and on top of that just a bit smitten but not quite wanting to accept it yet.

Trevor grinned again, the grin I was now becoming very accustomed to but that made my stomach spin circles in my abdomen more and more every time I saw it. "Well you've got to have some time left to spend with me don't you, sugar?"

At that moment the cook dropped our plates of food onto the table, shattering the tension between us and nearly making me jump out of my seat. My heart was pounding and whether the cause was Trevor's warm words or the loud thud of plates and cutlery against old plastic I did not know. Suddenly I no longer felt hungry, and instead the hunger was replaced with a tight feeling in my chest and stomach.

As Trevor wolfed down his breakfast I had to force myself to shovel down fork-full after fork-full of protein and carbs, having realized that there may be something more to the affection I had been feeling towards the man, or possibly that my meat was overcooked and my eggs far too undercooked. Either way my brain was telling me there was something amiss, and my body had decided to revolt.


	6. Say 'Ah'

Trevor had insisted to pay for the food with yet another crumpled 20 from his pocket, making me wonder how many crumpled 20s were in fact inhabiting it. I had managed to eat the majority of my food with the exception of the eggs, just the sight of which made me want to vomit to my very core. The copious amounts of grease and meat that I consumed did wonders for my remaining hangover, but at this time in the morning the lack of sleep I had gotten was beginning to settle in.

When he noticed me nodding off in the car Trevor snickered and pinched at the side of my neck, "Not enough sleep eh? I know exactly what you need, a little speed can do wonders." From his pocket he withdrew five tiny white pills, little glowing spheres of happiness and heart palpitations which I had only tried once before at a party I had attended in high school, half a pill at that and for all I knew it could have been a piece of a sugar cube someone tried to pass off as drugs to appear cool.

I shook my head to and fro instinctually though the energy was much needed and incredibly tempting. "Come on, two for you, three for me okay? Let Doctor Trevor take care of you," he flashed me a toothy smile, "Say ah." Without any hesitation I opened my mouth and shut my eyes, feeling like my childhood self taking communion and not exactly knowing why. Trevor placed the pills on my tongue delicately and I opened my eyes to see him shoving the remaining three into his mouth as if he were eating peanuts. I sat there with my tongue out for a moment like a fool before he turned in my direction and I forced myself to swallow them.

"And let me check under your tongue… Good girl, you'll be feeling all better before you know it." Trevor assured me and patted me on the head as if I were an untrained puppy. I was still far too tired to care about some harmless teasing, and I tilted my head backwards onto the head-rest letting out a sigh; my stomach had been stuffed to the brim with food and my head felt light and heavy at the same time.

After what seemed like a second my eyes fluttered open as the truck jerked to a halt in the dirt driveway of a run down trailer surrounded by overgrown yellowed grass and empty liquor bottles now inhabited by small colonies of bugs. Unravelled carpeted stairs led up to a door that looked as though it had nearly been torn off of its hinges one too many times. "Welcome to my humble abode, what is mine is yours as long as you don't start breaking shit."

"I wasn't aware that there was anything left unbroken." I replied quickly, and chuckled to myself, finding everything and anything more and more amusing with every passing moment; I wondered if it was the speed I had taken or lack of sleep causing this pleasant reaction within my mind.

Trevor gave me a glare of pure scrutiny, "Ha, ha, now get out of the car sugar-tits." Trevor exited his truck and I slid off of my seat as I opened the door, jumping to the ground and creating a small dust cloud with the force of my feet. Just the sight of my once black shoes, now an unsightly shade of brown mixed with grey, made my muscles twitch with agitation. The feeling of being covered in filth suddenly became unbearably apparent to me.

He must have noticed me in my state of silent bewilderment because he tapped my shoulder with more force than was necessary, "Hey, it gets better, you'll get used to the jitters trust me." For whatever reason even through my twinges of anxiety I clung to his word of trust, feeling hopeful that whatever faith I put in Trevor would help calm me.

"Can I use your shower?" I asked, since what I needed more than anything was a cold shower and 5 gallons of soap to scrub every little speck of minuscule brown tar off of my body; it felt like a tight Halloween mask lacking in ventilation, I needed to get out of it.

Trevor let a grin creep onto his face and bit as his thumb momentarily, "Kind of a funny story what happened to it but my shower's been broke for as long as I can remember. I have a fully functional hose I'd be more than happy to spray you with though." Whether this was innuendo or fact I cared very little, I felt as if ants were forming hills on my back and then crawling up my spine.

I frowned at him, shivering slightly, "To be honest I don't give a flying fuck, I want this shit off of me as soon as possible." For a moment I perceived the same hint of empathy in his facial expression and wondered whether or not I had imagined it, because as soon as I took notice of it it was gone.

He took hold of my arms and rubbed at them with hardened palms in an attempt to warm my nonsensical shivers, "Never fear my lady love, I will craft for you a shower fit for a queen." And at this he squeezed me playfully, "A woman on speed is a woman in need." Even in my state of agitation his quip made me laugh, albeit nervously, but laugh nevertheless.

He took me into a garage makeshift of old scrap wood and rusted nails with crude carvings etched into every corner. The air smelled of moss and sawdust with just a touch of roadkill, what I would have imagined to have been Trevor's signature perfume if he had created one. A rotting couch, some tools most likely only having been used to chop up body parts and some newspapers now rendered illegible by heat and moisture were the only things scattered around the dirt floor.

On the north wall hung a hose, grossly green in colour with metal browned with age, soon to be my new luxury shower. Trevor unraveled it from its home and swung it over a nearby rafter, "Ta da! I'm a fucking modern day DaVinci," he proceeded to twist at the rusted knob, muttering profanities and then finally resorting kicking at it with his boot until it began to give way. The mix of reds and browns that sputtered out of the hose were enough to make me close my eyes and wince, let alone the sound it made, similar to ketchup being squeezed out of a bottle.

"Wow, I'm surprised that thing still works. The water will clear up soon, there's probably a few dead rats that need to be flushed out." He states with a laugh, discouraging any bravery I had mustered up thus far, which was very little might I add. "Let yourself in when you're done, I'm gonna have a beer." And with that he walked away leaving me shuddering to myself, fingers trembling from the effects of the drug, trying to rummage through my bag to find the soap I had packed.

My heart pounded in my chest as I shifted clothes and toiletries around in search for my soap, I dropped to my knees and took deep breaths in an attempt to calm my body down but I knew it would be no use. The speed had already taken effect in my system and I would have to go along for the ride for a few hours at least. I couldn't help but begin to cry, whatever rational part of my brain was still functional told me it was a reaction to the drugs but even rational thought could have no effect on me at this point in time.

I felt like an idiot as my emotions overwhelmed me, not that I didn't feel that way about myself when I wasn't on speed but everything had now been amplified. The tightness of my chest and uncontrollable trembling that one usually experiences when overly upset were now present but accompanied by the tightness of the chest and trembling that can effect one on any drug considered to be an upper.

By now the water had become a clear, and I allowed myself to sit underneath it as I sobbed like a child without its mother, still fully clothed and wishing I could simply sleep. As it usually does when weeping and feeling sorry for ones-self, time must have flown by because I heard a voice calling from outside of the garage asking, "What's taking you so fucking long?" followed by knocks on the fragile wooden walls.

Maybe I didn't answer him because I needed someone to pity me, or maybe I was too consumed by self pity to speak, but I sat with my head resting on my knees waiting for him to find me with my entire body tingling. "Alright, alright what's going on in here?" I listened to his heavy footsteps as he strode in and with each step I trembled harder.

I heard him let out a long sigh and a tsk-tsk before I felt his presence sitting beside me, "Are you having a bit of a bad trip sugar?" he inquired, "Come on, tell Uncle Trevor what's wrong."

I sniffled, not quite knowing what I wanted to say or what exactly I was upset about, it seemed to be a combination of everything that had gone wrong in my life thus far and my breaths became short and quick as I attempted to express myself but was unable to do so. "Shh, come here." Trevor grabbed a hold of my shoulders and moved my body downwards until my head rested comfortably on his lap.

"I think one pill would have been enough for you," He let out a snicker as he ran his hand over my head and his fingers through my hair, "Deep, slow breaths now, that's it." It was a few minutes before I could control my crying and breathing but I couldn't escape my shaking just yet, I assumed that would subside in a little while. Even though I still felt as though my life were spiralling out of control I felt oddly at easy in Trevor's lap, and decided in my delirium that I would never leave it.

"Okay Nora, let's find your soap you fucking light weight." Trevor laughed and lifted me upward into my previous sitting position. It was only as he explored my duffle bag that I noticed he too was now drenched in water, and I observed the contours of his shoulders and back as well as the dirt dripping from his skin. "Here's your fucking soap, here's your fucking shampoo." He tosses the bottles out of my bag and onto the ground so that they rolled slowly towards me.

Trevor slid in my direction and set the bottles upwards, "Now are you alright or to I need to wash you too?" he grinned at me, "God knows I wouldn't mind."

Though my body and mind still felt as if they were lost in some distant part of the universe I managed to crack a smile. With twitching fingers and arms finding it difficult to control themselves I motioned for him to leave, feeling my body weaving slightly. "You know I wouldn't have taken you home if I'd known you required constant supervision." At this he took it upon himself to poor my pretentiously berry scented shampoo onto my head and then place my bottle of body wash onto my lap. "I'll be back in 5 minutes to check on you so get your shit together." At this he stood up and left and I took a moment to listen to the sound of his boots crunching gravel.

I pulled myself together enough to scrub at myself a little and rinse my hair but nothing more than that, the room was blurry and seemed to tremble as much as my hands did as I pulled on a new t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. I abandoned my clothes from the night before on the ground alongside my bag, forgetting about them entirely as I left the garage that was much more akin to a shack long vacated somewhere in a forest than any garage I had ever seen.


	7. Good Vibrations

The sun pierced my eyes as I made the short trip from the garage to the tailer door, the rays of light warmed my body enough to intoxicate me further and my surroundings began to blur and spiral around my head. This was nothing I couldn't handle, only slightly worse than being completely and utterly drunk, but much more disorienting and the heart palpitations weren't doing much for my case either.

I grappled with the door handle for a moment before it swung open, Trevor having opened it from the other side and was now eyeing me with some distaste, "I should have never believed for a minute that you could handle that shit," he bent down and warped his arms around me, lifting me from the ground as if I weighed about as much as an ounce of cocaine.

I allowed myself to rest my head on his shoulder, not that I had many other options with my head feeling heavier with every passing minute. The interior of the trailer was dimly lit and I had little time to observe what it contained before I was set down onto a bed, which squeaked loudly in protest as my body came into contact with it.

As I lie there my eyes began tracing constellations in the discolourations on the ceiling, the only thing I could manage to keep my focus on before Trevor waved a hand above my eyes, "Listen to me, try and get some sleep, you're brain's fucked enough anyways." He threw a tattered blanket over me, "I've gone through enough O.D.'s to know you'll be fine in a few hours. Now go to sleep okay?" He spoke to me slowly and then covered my eyes with his hand.

Whether it was sleep that had overcome me or I had simply passed out I did not care. When I awoke my mind was clear but my body still shook and by the lighting in the room I could tell the time had now passed into the evening or at least the late afternoon. I could now properly admire the minuscule bedroom, with peeling wallpaper and bent blinds all symptomatic of Trevor's presence.

I found Trevor himself to be sleeping along side of me, face planted into the mattress and an arm outstretched around my torso, once again snoring heavily though slightly muffled through the mattress. I ran my fingers along his forearm taking notice of every old scar that had caused his skin to rise in various spots. I traced the outline of a spade tattoo and then the crudely writte on his knuckles, I had assumed this had been an experiment in self modification at best. I turned to my side to observe him sleep, back rising and falling with every deep breath and slight movement of the limbs every few minutes; I wondered how he had managed to fall asleep with his face buried so deep into the mattress and with little to no air making its way into his lungs.

It occurred to me at that moment that I had likely gone insane, having completely abandoned my companions, come to the home of someone who I could still call a stranger and accept tiny white pills onto my tongue. Nonetheless I felt no fear, I felt no discomfort, I felt no anger, which was something I could not have said about myself for quite some time now. I felt strangely whole, and this was the only way I could think to describe it.

I wondered if this was what love felt like, or if I had ever even been in love before. It seemed very peculiar to me how many times one can throw around the term love, even on a daily basis, and not ever be aware of its meaning. How does one know when they're in love if they've never felt it before? I wished with all of my might that there were some litmus test, a piece of paper you could spit on and then it turns pink and presto, there you are, love, with 100% certainty.

I tried to recall a time in my life where I had felt as whole as I did at the moment but kept drawing blanks. I had experienced the full range of human emotions in my lifetime: happiness, sadness, anger, fear, and ever small variation in between but was wholeness an emotion, and could it be counted on that list? The uncertainty I felt drilled holes in my stomach and caused me to shudder.

I asked myself a number of questions that I knew to be related to _love. _Does Trevor make me happy? Yes. Do I want Trevor to be happy? Yes. Do I enjoy his company? Yes. Would it upset me to be away from him? I suppose it would. Would you do anything for him? No, but I would do a great deal more for him than many of the people I've considered to be close to me in my lifetime. And still I couldn't say anything with certainty, and it was possible that my subconscious prevented me from doing so.

The one conclusion that I could draw was that Trevor had treated me with more kindness than anyone I had encountered in my lifetime and I had hardly even gotten to know him. The thought of going back to my 'friends' sickened me and the thought of going home with them only sickened me further. I could have easily been confusing love with a deep appreciation for him mixed with some dependancy, but I decided not to convince myself of either for the time being.

I had become so immersed in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed that Trevor's snoring had stopped or that he was now examining me with one eye, face half lifted from the sheets. I turned to him and let go of his forearm, which up until now I had still been clutching, and now wasn't sure whether I wanted to smile or cry. "How are you feeling?" He inquired, still partially muffled before propping his head up on one hand.

"Better." I replied, deciding to go with a smile rather than tears of happiness and confusion and give away the reality of my hysteria. Every part of my being itched to kiss him again, the kisses that had seemed so ordinary upon first experiencing them were now held on a pedestal in my mind like some heavenly messiah.

Trevor returned my smile with a patented grin and brought himself into a sitting position with an exaggerated yawn. "Well, it's 4 o'clock. Do you want some water or a beer or something? Are you hungry?" My stomach continued to do pirouettes and so I settled on a beer, hoping the carbonation might help my situation; on top of this I was not completely convinced that the water in Sandy Shores was all that drinkable.

I sat upright, wrapping myself in the odd smelling blanket I had been sleeping under while Trevor fetched my beverage. I gazed up at the ceiling and concluded to myself that the discolourations were in fact some new form of life beginning to thrive there; I imagined tiny little bacterium families moving into their new homes and making tiny little bacterium babies, the thought of which made me both happy and disgusted at the same time.

As I made Darwinian observations on the new life I had discovered Trevor returned with 2 beers. He handed one to me and as he did our fingers brushed, "Cheers." He proclaimed, then lied down on the bed beside me, cracking his beer open and guzzling down about half of it in his first sip. I opened mine and sipped at it hesitantly, trying with all of my might to stomach it and not embarrass myself any further.

Silence overcame us for some time, the comfortable quietness one experiences after a well needed rest. I kept my attention focused on the families of bacteria I had imagined, taking small sips of my beer and naming their towns and families after movie stars. I felt strangely sentimental as I stared and felt the need to lie down as well, taking deep breaths and preventing my emotions from getting the better of me.

Without very much thought at all I allowed myself to lean my head on Trevor's shoulder and tell him, "Thank you for taking care of me." with a bothersome lump rising in my throat that I continued to hold down.

"Don't start crying on me now again." He stated mockingly as if he had once again been reading my mind, but then lifted his arm behind my back and held my shoulder with a slight squeeze I could only attribute to tenderness. There was something serene about the moment that caused my eyes to water, once again making me seem like a fool.

I let out a sigh of exasperation, "I'm such a fucking idiot." I stated, mainly to myself but still aloud. Though I could now think with clarity all of the terrible thoughts the speed had brought on still lingered in my mind like the smoke after a fire.

"Don't worry about it sugar, so am I." Trevor laughed, "Lighten the fuck up okay? I know I probably fried your brain with the speed but cut the crap." He continued laughing so that his chest shook, throwing the vibrations of laughter my way. Whatever clouds had been trapped in my mind seemed to be shaken out with his laugh and I realized at that moment how difficult it would be for me to have to make my way home in a weeks time. In fact the very thought of it brought a heaviness over my entire being, so I decided to push it away for the moment.

I was surprised to find myself now laughing quietly as well, and as though I had lost all control of my personal filter the words, "You're the nicest person I've ever met." flew from my mouth without having consulted my brain prior.


	8. Horrendously Purple Polkadots

I suppose my words were what had brought it on, the words that had emerged unexpectedly from some deep part of myself where subconscious thoughts run rampant. I supposed that they were words Trevor had needed to hear and that I had needed to say, a kind of self therapy for both of us alike, because before I could take in another breath of musty trailer air Trevor had flung himself on top of me, showering me in sloppy kisses the likes of the previous night.

I kissed back eagerly, not having realized until now how much I had needed him and whatever this was, the spit and scratchy stubble and awkward grappling at each others clothes. Everything around us vanished and my mind became blank, only to be filled with him and nothing else. As our bodies intertwined I felt at home, the same sense of wholeness flooded me and it was hot and snug as though it were fresh from the dryer.

Even though I knew hardly anything about the life of this man and he knew hardly anything about mine I felt as though the complete opposite were true. As cliché as it sounds there was an odd connection between us, one that I had never experienced with anyone else regardless of how well I knew them; something completely independent of a mutual history.

I allowed myself to slip my hands up the back of his shirt and map every curve and contour with my fingertips, I allowed myself to bite at his neck as he bit at mine and outline his lips with my tongue. He told me he loved me in between kisses, over and over again, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him I loved him back and so instead I kissed harder, squeezed harder and buried myself into him completely.

"Take off your shirt." I whispered to him, exhaling heavily. I wanted to feel every inch of him, I wanted to know him by heart and with eyes shut. As a team we pulled at the fabric of his t-shirt while trying to break as little contact as possible between us, lips by necessity having to touch every other moment.

I didn't take the time to observe his torso but instead pulled him back to me, bridging the gap that had formed between our bodies that had felt so unbearable. I could now freely feel his skin, his warmth and his being; I could now feel him tugging at my own shirt, running hands up the sides onto my stomach and rib cage, grabbing at me softly.

As quickly as I could I pulled my shirt over my head, it was the only barrier left between our skin and I needed it gone more than anything. He wrapped his hands around my bare back and proceeded to kiss my chest causing shivers to ripple through my body slowly while the feeling of our stomachs touching, rising and falling with our breaths in harmony made my heart tremble with some force.

He told me he loved me again, breathing it heavily into my ear as kissed it and with my mind now drained of all inhibition I answered, "I love you Trevor." without any hesitation and a twinge of instant anxiety and regret. For a moment all action came to a halt and the sound of our laboured lungs filled the small bedroom. I could distinctly feel his body tense and his fingers clamp down onto my sides. I was unsure what my proclamation had sparked in his mind or what exactly he was pondering, but to add a new layer of sincerity to what I had said I decided to repeat myself, "I love you."

And then once again the kisses continued, harder than before. He pulled at my hair and bit at my lips and I returned the favour by doing the same to him. He hooked his fingers into the band of my sweatpants and for a brief moment I felt myself freeze before he pulled them down my legs and I kicked them off with some urgency. I took it upon myself to remove his pants as he rained kisses upon my neck, with hands latched onto my thighs.

The only thing to remain was underwear, my horrendously purple polkadot ones with obnoxious frills and bows that at the moment I only wanted to burn, and his of course simply white. It wasn't long until those were gone too, not that they would be missed or that I ever wanted to see them again.

Trevor was much more gentle a lover than I had imagined him to be, but I could have also hypothesized that he was going easy on me because I had just come off of a bad trip. Even so I liked to envision him as a gentleman with a soft interior no one had been allowed to explore but me, as terribly romantic as that may sound.

I felt more loved than I had since I was a small child being showered with attention whilst sick with the flu, lying in bed all day long while my mother made me chicken soup and checked my temperature periodically. It was the sense of knowing your happiness had become one in the same with another person's, that their emotions mattered as much to you as your own.

I assumed all of the over emotional philosophical thought was an aftereffect of drugs or that I may have indeed begun to spiral into insanity; if either were true I cared very little, in fact, losing a couple of brain cells would do me a world of good. I decided not think anymore, I decided I would never think again, all that mattered at the moment was Trevor.

As we made love he kept his arms around me tightly, and I had to admit to myself that as much as I enjoyed it it was slightly uncomfortable; despite this I wanted him to hold me even more tightly, to squeeze the breath out of me, to crush me. Two mismatched pieces are all the more satisfactory to force together than ones that are meant to fit.

I weaved my legs around his back and my arms around his neck, playing with strands of hair as I kissed his jawline, allowing the 5 o'clock shadow to scrape at my lips as I did. "Tell me you love me again." He exhaled, nearly whispering, as if at any given moment government spies might burst into the room and arrest me for loving him. I felt his fingers dig into my back as he proceeded to trace patterns on my neck with his tongue.

Between gasps I told him I loved him again, though at this point I would have said anything he had asked me to, my brain seemed to be flickering like a lightbulb in need of replacement. He kissed me deeply again, I found myself pleasantly lightheaded from a lack of oxygen and pulled him closer to me, I didn't want there to be an inch of myself that he wasn't touching.

It was at this moment that there was a sharp knock at the trailer door, leaving an eerie aluminium ring hanging in the air when it was over. Everything came to a dead halt as we both shifted our eyes towards the other room with more hostility than I ever thought imaginable. Trevor's brows furrowed, his expression changing immediately before screaming, "Fuck off, nobody's home!"

I lifted myself to press my cheek against his chest in a futile attempt to assuage his anger, pressing my hands to his stomach with little reassurance. For a second time the unwelcome guest made themselves known through another knock that stung my eardrums, causing Trevor to let out a low growl. Before I had the chance to grab at him and hold him in place we were separated and I was left outstretched on the bed with both arms reaching out for his warmth and love and receiving nothing.

Without having bothered to put on any of his clothes Trevor tore the door open, shedding clarity on the state the door had been in when I had arrived earlier today, "What the fuck do you want?" Trevor's voice was pure rage, I could taste it in the tone of his words. I covered myself with the frayed blanket instinctually and listened apprehensively to the silence that ensued, clutching my knees and feeling sweat drip from my forehead, small droplets one after the other falling onto torn fabric.

The voice that answered was tainted in disgust but I could still recognize it with ease, it was Quinn. I could picture her face perfectly, scrunched and repulsed as she inquired, "Is Nora here? We asked where the creep lived and they all pointed here." The question made my extremities tingle with offence at the use of the word 'creep'; in fact her entire presence offended me.

I heard Trevor snicker and the snicker soon became loud and unfiltered laughter, laughter that went on for an amount of time I knew had made my companions very uneasy, as if the sight of the naked man hadn't made them uneasy enough to begin with. I felt my stomach sink and lurch as he called out to me lovingly, "I don't know if she is. _Honey_ are you home?"


	9. 50 Cheeseburgers

I nearly landed on my face as I scrambled off of the bed and began scouring the floor for my clothes which had each seemed to have taken to different filth stained corners of the room. I had to abandon my search after I had found my sweatpants in fear that my companions might assume Trevor had murdered me once again and harbour even more contempt for me than they already did. I wrapped my torso in the yellowed blanket before stumbling towards the door, tripping over the legs of my own sweatpants much to the amusement of Trevor.

I only allowed my head to poke through the door and hid the rest of my body behind it so as though they would not discover I wasn't wearing my shirt; a useless gesture considering the conclusions they had likely already drawn from the man who had carelessly decided to answer the door in his birthday suit.

Quinn and Jade appeared as scandalized as I had pictured them to be, both staring at me wide-eyed with eyebrows at odd angles and filled with scrutiny. I didn't quite know what to say to them, at the moment all I could do was stare back with just as much disgust and wondering why on earth they had decided to come find me if they had never once cared about me for a second in their lives.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked me in a horrified whisper which lead me to believe that she was far too disturbed to begin another one of her rants where she would proceed to judge me in every aspect of my life.

Despite my anxieties I couldn't help but feel the urge to smile, and I instantly suppressed it. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

And there it was, the glare of eternal judgement that arose on her face and that had arisen there many times before, "Gee, I don't know, maybe decide to fucking apologize and come back to us? You're a selfish piece of shit do you know that? Are Jade and I the only two people who actually care about our friendship?" Her voice threatened to become background noise as she rambled about the numerous flaws in my personality.

I stood there idly, expression blank with boredom at the things I had heard a thousand times before. "And another thing," she continued before her voice fell to a whisper again, "Are you high?"

I informed her that I may be experiencing the aftereffect of some drug but that I could hardly consider myself high. "Are you… not wearing a shirt?" Was the next question on my table as it appeared I had leaned too far out of the doorway and given myself away. So I informed her that no I was not in fact wearing a shirt. Finally she asked the question I had been anticipating, "Were you having sex with this psychopath?" silently gesturing with her eyes towards the man who was now rummaging through the fridge behind me.

"As a matter of fact, yes I was, do you have a problem with that? Because if you do, frankly, I don't give a shit." The words left my mouth tainted with a tone of anger I had never used before, they filled me with pride.

If you told me there was a facial expression capable of appearing more appalled than the one that arose on Quinn's face I wouldn't have believed you. I had an inkling that it was my disregard of her opinion rather than the fact that I had revealed to her that I had just slept with a psychopath that caused this rise in emotion in her.

There was a standstill between us as we each needed to properly process what I had said to her. I suppose Trevor could no loner contain himself because he once again burst forth in the same unfiltered laughs, contagious laughs that I simply could not immunize myself from, and soon I too was laughing.

"You fucking bitch." She stated slowly, eyes still wide and mouth agape with distaste for my sudden acquisition of a spine, "You are actually the most pitiful excuse for a human being in existence."  
"No, that would be me, sweetheart." Trevor cackled from behind me, "Now if you wouldn't mind getting the fuck off my property before I give in to my overwhelming desire to slaughter the two of you." At this I laughed even harder, feeling my abdomen ache as I hadn't laughed this much in what seemed to me to be years.

The look of disapproval I got from my ex-companions was actually quite rewarding, and observing their body language as the vacated the premises was equally if not more rewarding, backs hunched and arms crossed. It alleviated all the heaviness that had accumulated in my chest for God knows how long, I knew I was finally freed of their company.

"Honestly, tell me how someone like you ends up in a crowd of sorry cunts like those." Trevor was now peering out of the bent blinds of his trailer window at the two of them leaving like a house cat stalking its unattainable prey.

Once I managed to quiet my hysteria I cleared my throat, "I'm asking myself the same question. I mean, you meet people, you talk to people, those people call you their friend, the whole process is torture, really."

"Well maybe once I rub off on you enough you'll be able to turn people off by just looking at them. I mean, I bone you once and you've already told your friends to go fuck themselves. As a teacher I'd say I'm doing pretty well for myself." Trevor smiled to himself before stating, "Let's go grab something to eat I'm fucking famished."

All of this I could agree to, especially the part about being hungry; apparently having a something of a small overdose can make you work up quite the appetite. I was beginning to believe that all of the things I had been fretting over could all be blamed on my ex-companions, and though I knew in my heart not everything that had happened thus far in my life was their fault I took great pleasure in believing it true.

The two of us collected our clothes, and I returned to the garage momentarily to rescue my duffle bag from the monsoon of water the forgotten hose had created. Upon my return to the trailer Trevor handed me another beer and mockingly inquired if I felt like another hit of speed before we headed out, having taken another two himself.

We took to the roads with beer in hand and listened to punk rock noise on the radio as Trevor cursed at fellow drivers and threatened to run them off the highway. Where he drove me was Paleto Bay, a small town in the northern region of Los Santos, a quaint little area near the water where the air smelt of sea salt and rotten fish.

As we pulled into the drive through of a fast-food restaurant Trevor asked, "So what do ladies like to eat? You know, I'm mostly partial to road kill and the stuff that grows in my fridge but I guess I can make an exception for you, considering you're a guest in my home."

I managed to keep a straight face as I replied, "Ladies like cheeseburgers. Giving a lady a cheeseburger is essentially a marriage proposal; give a lady a cheeseburger and she'll wait on your every need." I had to give in and crack a smile by the end of my lecture.

"Ah, I see, I see. I'm learning a lot from you Nora, it's a God damn shame I didn't know that earlier though, my dream has always been to be surrounded by a hoard of meat-thirsty women." We pulled up to the intercom surrounded by pictures of french fries and soda and 2 for 1 specials.

The sluggish voice that asked us, "May I take your order?" sounded as if it had just taken a shot of morphine to be able to get through another menial day of minimum wage labour in a dead end job they so despised. I imagined it as a genderless mass of collected objects such as lottery tickets and childhood toys, of course wearing the mandatory fast-food headset.

Trevor leaned out of the car window so that his face was but a few inches away from the speaker, an odd mannerism I made sure to take note of, "Yes, hi, I'd like 50 cheeseburgers." He blurted out loudly, possibly causing irreparable damage to the eardrums of the person, or mass, at the other end.

There was a static filled silence before the voice replied, "Excuse me, sir?"

"Are you deaf or just a fucking imbecile? I _said _I'd like to place an order of 50 cheeseburgers." He spoke slowly through clenched teeth.

There was yet another short silence before the voice hesitantly questioned, "15?"  
"No not 15! Fucking 50!" Trevor yelled back, grappling at the intercom box as if it would allow the employee to feel his wrath; the entire time this incident was unfolding I sat with head in my hands shaking with giggles and in absolute hysterics.

"Please advance to the second window sir." The voice replied, seemingly unfazed at such a blatant display of anger, leading me to further my belief that they had in fact taken some sort of sedative before coming in to work, and that yes, they were also in fact made up of a collection of inanimate objects.


	10. 5 Cents for a Spoon

Nothing gave me more pleasure than watching Trevor being handed bag after bag of burgers whilst giving the cashier a look a pure and utter hatred. I had to admit it did take about 20 minutes for them to be ready but the wait was well worth the copious amounts of meat and cheese that was now in our possession.

As he pulled into a parking space in the deserted parking lot he turned to me with a smirk, "So if a burger is a marriage proposal what does that make us now?"

I turned my head away from him in an attempt to feign a lack in satisfaction, "Well as far as I'm concerned you've bought the ring but I haven't heard a proposal yet." And at this I crossed my arms dramatically with the emphasis of a terrible actress.

At this I got no reply, forcing me to turn my head back around and give up my pathetic act only to reveal Trevor leaning down with a burger raised in hand towards me, "Nora, I have a very important question to ask you." He stated so solemnly I couldn't help but snicker to which he snickered back quietly before shushing me.

"Yes Trevor, what could it be, my love?" I replied in a soft high pitched voice, imagining myself to have been an idiotic young girl in a romantic sitcom in which she could never quite realize that someone was in love with her.

"We've been through so much together in the past… 16 hours. You know, as soon as I saw your rack that night at the bar, I knew it was meant to be, and I swore to myself, Trevor, you will make that fine piece of ass your wife if it's the last thing you do. There comes a time in every man's life when he has to ask himself, is this the rack I want to look at for the rest of my life? and he realizes that yes, it is. So, all that being said, Nora, will you take this greasy slab of meat and call me your husband?"

The entire speech was more lovely than any proposal I had ever heard in a cheesy romance film for television show, and it was definitely far more genuine than any I had heard. I decided to myself that if I ever decided to marry, the proposal could be nothing less than which Trevor had just spoken to me.

I raised a hand to my forehead in the same vain as shocked fair lady of the Victorian age, "Oh Trevor, why of course I'd marry you, you _are_ the most sought-after gentleman in the town, after all. Why, you've made me the happiest woman in all the world!" I picked the sloppily made sandwich up from his hand with as much finesse as I could muster before taking a bite.

I had managed to eat 5 cheeseburgers before admitting defeat Trevor wolfed down 7, leaving us with a total of 48 cheeseburgers making themselves known in his truck with sweet aromas of ketchup and grease. With a stomach packed with fast food and a mind filled with foreign romantic fantasies it needed not be said that this was the happiest I had been in a very long time.

Somehow we ended up kissing and fondling each other in the parking lot like two teenagers on prom night, much to the disdain of everyone and anyone within viewing distance. Maybe it was the fact that I was alone in a foreign place, but I felt no embarrassment for any of this, somehow my concerns about self composure had managed to escape me.

When the unlucky employee who had taken our order was forced to approach us and politely ask if we might possibly consider leaving their parking lot they then had to face the wrath of Trevor who proceeded to leave his truck and chase the cashier back into the building whilst threatening to shove his boot so far up his ass it would come out of his mouth.

Was it possible that I had finally met someone who shared my unusual hatred of most everything? This was likely the reason why everything Trevor did made me either want to laugh or cry; he was simply a kindred spirit and as I sat in the passenger seat of his truck laughing away I found myself with a lump in my throat, thinking to myself how thankful I was to have found him.

I wanted to tell him that I loved him again, this time not in the throws of passion but simply and sincerely just as we were, but I could not bring myself to do so. There was an odd thought in the depths of my mind that still pestered me, the imminence of my return home, even though I had just arrived in Los Santos the previous night. All I could wish for was Trevor's happiness yet every passing moment with him would only cause greater pain in a weeks time.

"Little fucker." Trevor muttered as he climbed back into the truck, seeming to me to be genuinely peeved, so I placed my hand on his as a small gesture of kindness, hoping that maybe human contact would have a positive effect on his blood pressure. "You know you're a fucking sweetheart, right? Where were you for the past 30 years of my life, I wouldn't have turned out half as fucked up as I am." As he chuckled he started the engine.

"You're fucked up, but that's what makes you perfect. I'm glad we met when we did because now I have a whole new level of appreciation for how fucked up you are, and a whole new level disgust for everything that wasn't fucked up about everything else." Even I wasn't quite sure what I had meant by this but it came from an honest place.

"God, I love you." He stated blatantly with his head turned to back out of the parking lot, "This is what we're going to do. We're going to go out, grab some nice low quality wine, and go fucking swimming." The spontaneity of his proposal made me giggle. He seemed to know exactly what I needed without me ever having known I needed it myself.

We drove to convenience store whose windows were coated in tacky neon lights that read 'beer', 'cigarettes' and the like. The sun was now beginning to set, shedding light on every struggling weed trying to make its way through cracks in the pavement and illuminating the small cuts and scars on Trevor's face.

"Wait out here, alright sugar?" He patted me on the head as if I were puppy learning to 'stay' before exiting the vehicle.

I observed his stride as he walked into the 7/11, determined with his chest puffed outward. I watched him with wide eyes as he pulled a gun from his pants, in one swift motion as if it were second nature, and pointed it in the direction of the cash.

I felt myself frozen in place, knowing the chaos that lied just beyond the glass but not quite hearing or seeing it properly. The little moral compass that resided in my head pointed so strongly for me to do something, say something, try and stop the actions which my mind told me were wrong, and yet I could do nothing. I sat as if glued to the torn passenger seat cushion, holding my breath and watching Trevor, the fluidity of his movements turning the crime of robbery into a graceful ballet.

With pockets full of cash and hands filled with cheap boxes of wine he sprinted from the doorway to the truck, dumping his score in the trunk and hopping into his seat all in a matter of seconds. My mind spun for a moment as he backed out of the parking spot and sped away, I could neither do nor say anything for the coming minutes.

It wasn't as though what Trevor had done had changed my impression of him in any way, I found it safe to assume that he had committed every crime imaginable the moment I laid my eyes on him the previous night. Maybe it was the fact that I had never bore witness to a crime, never a serious one at that; or maybe it was the fact that society had terrified me into abhorring all forms of violence, or in this case threatened violence.

I had never seen a gun before, I had never held a gun before, I had never seen a gun in use besides in works of fiction. With the feeling of an anchor in my stomach I came to the realization that no matter how much media had desensitized me to crime and violence, witnessing it first hand was a different story entirely.

For the time being I couldn't bring myself to look at Trevor, I simply starred at the passing scenery, vast open desert dust and bare shrubbery void of life. With every passing moment I tried to calm myself so that I could fathom coming to terms with what I had just seen; I told myself that crime occurred everywhere and everyday, and that I myself was a criminal too, not as extreme, but I recounted to myself the time I stole utensils from the cafeteria when they charged 5 cents for a spoon.

Trevor remained silent as well and I made myself feel awful for in turn making him question my devotion to him. I decided to force myself to look at him in the hopes that I could find what I knew I still adored about him, and accept what he had done and what I had already known he had done before, but that still managed to drive nails into my pitiful moral brain.

Of course he was the same man, the same Trevor, the same person who had treated me with such kindness and hospitality. The same stubble and scars, the same dirty clothes, the same crude tattoos and charming brows; but added to this was a new trait, thief, one that I would force myself to recognize and identify with even if it took me the rest of my life.

It must have been the manner in which I was eyeing him that caused the question I had been expecting, "You're okay, right? With this- you know, the… robbing the store and whatever." In his voice was a whiff of uncertainty, one which I had never heard in him before. Was there a hint of fear that I detected as well? The very idea of Trevor self-conscious and afraid was something I could not wrap my mind around.

I knew in my heart that crime was in his nature, and I knew I could not blame him. The very fact that he was concerned about what I was now making him out to be warmed me, helping me to realize that this petty robbery was nothing, at least nothing I needed to dwell on.

I forced myself to smile at him before making my reply, "No, no- I mean, I'm alright. But, can I see the gun?" What I needed was to touch it, to know its physicality and accept what it was.

"Uh, yeah sure." He rummaged into his pants to retrieve the weapon fastened to their band. The very sight of it made me uncomfortable, but I told myself what once it was in my hands I could accept it. I took it from him hesitantly, the black pistol with starches in the paint and a worn down handle. It was obviously well loved, and I convinced myself that I would love it too, running my fingers along the barrel and touching the trigger with utmost vigilance.


	11. Guns are Bullshit

The drive to the Alamo Sea that bordered northern Sandy Shores seemed to drag on for an eternity. I sat through the entire ride with the gun sitting patiently in my lap like a sleeping kitten; though I no longer felt any fear holding it I still could not help but feel as though it didn't belong here, anywhere in my vicinity for that matter.

I suppose I was still slightly shaken but this only made me feel more idiotic than I knew I already was. "I've never held a gun before. I mean, to be honest I've never seen one in the flesh… so to speak." I found myself chuckling nervously as I tried to break the tension that had arisen between us on the long ride.

Trevor's laugh seemed to boom through out our empty surroundings, flooding me with an enormous sense of relief, "Is that _actually _what you're being so fucking neurotic about?" His voice reeked of condescension, causing my chest to tighten. "Listen sugar," he abruptly grabbed the weapon from my lap and I flinched, "Calm the fuck down okay? This is nothing, alright? You could probably kill someone just as easily with a spoon if you were determined enough, I know that first hand."

I exhaled with a small and pathetic laugh, his humour allowing me to feeling a little better. Trevor placed his hand on my shoulder and shook it, "Lighten up okay? Come on now, I'm going to make you shoot it." And as he said this we turned sharply off the road in the direction of the sea before he stamped his foot onto the breaks, bringing the tuck to an abrupt stop in a cloud of dirt.

"I'll pass." I replied as quickly as I could, "Let's just go swimming and get drunk okay?" Evidently holding the gun for a brief moment in time was not hardly enough therapy for me.

Trevor sighed with some exaggeration before looking me in the eyes, "Nora," his voice was stern, "Trust me, just shoot the gun once and you'll feel as hell of a lot better. You don't need to be a fucking therapist to know these things." I managed to smile half-heartedly with half of my mouth, only because I knew I did trust him regardless of what common sense continued to tell me.

"Get out of the car." He told me as he exited the truck, and I found myself doing exactly as he said. It was an odd sensation, a lack of control over myself that I could only attribute to my confidence in Trevor's ability to solve every life problem I had had thus far. I walked towards him without thought or hesitation like a child blindly following its mother, and like a mother he took me in his arms lovingly.

He positioned himself behind me before sliding his arms alongside mine and guiding my hands onto the pistol; I could feel his warm breath on my neck. "You're going to shoot that 'no swimming' sign because fuck that shit, we're going swimming anyways!" I kept my eyes shut as we aimed at the red sea salt rusted sign and he pressed his index finger onto mine, causing me to pull the trigger and the ammunition to instantly penetrate the sign, leaving a hollow metallic ring resonating through the air.

I found myself laughing uncontrollably as he pecked at my neck with dry lips, "That felt good, now didn't it?" He inquired, "Now do it one more time." Again he aided me in pulling the trigger, this time I kept my eyes open as we shot the tiny black circle of a head of the stick figure swimming in stick waves of water.

Much to my dismay Trevor let go of me, taking the gun along with him. "Guns are bullshit, they're nothing, see this?" He dangled the gun in front of my face before swinging his shoulder backward and launching it into the sea; it made a satisfying plopping sound as it became enveloped by the dark waters, "It's no big deal."

I couldn't help but assume that Trevor still possessed a complete artillery of weapons of all sorts somewhere but the symbolic significance of his gesture made me smile. He truly was the most admirable man I had ever met, as ridiculous as that sounds considering he had just committed armed robbery shortly before.

I came to realize that despite what moral conduct I had absorbed from civilized living there was still a kind of morality that I was now beginning to identify within Trevor. A criminal is not necessarily lacking in moral standards, instead they possess their own individual ones, each more absurd than the next, but moral standards nonetheless.

"Thank you Trevor." I said with genuine sincerity, imagining myself now bar hopping with my ex-companions, drunk and miserably dancing with anonymous men; I had Trevor to thank for no longer being subjected to such pathetic endeavours.

"The pleasure's all mine, sweetheart." He pinched at my cheek as your great aunt might when she sees you at the Christmas party, "Now let's get trashed." At this he fetched two boxes of wine from the bed of the truck, both with slightly frayed cardboard, I assume from being thrown about the trunk on the ride over. "One for you and one for me." He grinned before tearing open his box with some haste and pulling from it the bag of sweet red juice.

Trevor twisted at the nozzle that protruded from the bag and proceeded to down much of it in his first drink. I attempted to keep up with him though it was no use, I had never been one blessed with the gift of guzzling alcohol, instead I had to take many sips at various intervals; Trevor found this both endearing and hilarious.

The night was now upon us and the moon shown bright, a giant crescent in a sky unusually filled with constellations that I used to know but no longer recognized. Trevor abandoned his clothes before sprinting childishly into the calm waters, and I wondered to myself momentarily about the levels of pollution and chemical content of the sea but quickly realized I now cared very little about that, the warm sensation of red wine in my stomach dulled my concerns.

I glanced around to convince myself that there was no one in fact around before shedding my clothing as well. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of shyness that I tried my best not to reveal, I had a strange impression that Trevor had yet to see me fully without clothes on, though I knew that surely he had already.

I too ran towards the water if only because I felt the need to cover my body with something, that nearest something being the Alamo Sea. Reading my mind once again Trevor smirked at me, "You have a great body," emphasis on the great.

By the sardonic grin I knew he was trying to make me uncomfortable so I responded to him with a playful, "Fuck off, you've already seen it, now don't be an ass," before submerging myself completely in the water. Like any woman I had my share of stretch marks and unwanted fat, therefore any compliment made about my body with sarcastic undertone I simply would not accept, however well-intentioned it may have been.

When I returned to the surface of the glistening water I found Trevor to have swam towards me, "Hey, hear me out, this is completely different lighting. It's like looking at a diamond or something under dying lightbulbs and then seeing it under the moon. Your lady curves look extra lovely in this light." His words made my heart swoon the way I had seen in movies but never knew was possible in real life.

He was a smooth talker I would give him that much, and even through the humour in his voice I could hear undertones of sincerity that caused my stomach to coil. "I'm impressed by your uncanny ability to always say exactly what I want to hear."

"Yeah, you manage to learn a thing or two after being turned down by a couple thousand women." He laughed hoarsely, "Mind you most of them were running away from me, but within the past few hours I think I've really managed to hone in on my seduction skills."

I chuckled to myself, wondering if I could possibly be missing my primal instinct to run in the face of danger, "Well I guess that's good for you because I can't run very fast, so you could probably catch me if I ever tried to make a move." I flashed Trevor a genuine smile before moving towards him and pressed my body to his, leaning my head on his collar.

Trevor wrapped his arms around my back and rested his cheek on my head and for a moment we simply stood there in the deep blue water without saying a word. The air grew uncomfortably serious and I held my breath, not daring to break the silence. In my mind there was still a thought hidden but that continued to eat at me and I decided to myself that now was an appropriate time to set it free.

"I want to say this now before you think I'm too drunk to be talking sensibly," I began, taking in a deep breath and knowing what had to be said, "I don't think I've ever been in love before, and I don't really know what being in love is supposed to feel like but, I think this might be it, and I'm not sure what to make of it and to be honest it's freaking me out a little bit, but I also kind of like it."

I took in another breath, having exhausted my lungs momentarily. I didn't want to look at Trevor just yet but the fact that he remained silent worried me incredibly, and my heart began to race in my chest.

He exhaled and replied to me in a strangely monotone manner, "I never really thought it was possible for someone to love me." And again silence, this time I did not dare break it. Trevor's statement sounded to me to be a more or less contemplative one, one that I myself had contemplated many times before but only in those moments where I was unreasonably upset and had decided that everyone in the world was out to get me.

It resonated with me but at the same time I couldn't fully understand it, I hardly knew the man yet, but I wished I could know his life from a simple touch. My chest felt heavy as I tossed the words over in my mind and the only solution I could think of was to reassure him with alcohol, a friend that never fails.

I kissed his cheek before returning to the shore, dragging him by his hand and then handing him his bag of wine, "A toast to being nowhere near the people who don't care about us." I stated, hoping to lift both of our spirits

Trevor smiled at me, "Cheers."


	12. The CEO of Pharmaceuticals

We sat in the sand and chugged at our booze until we could no longer feel anything but each other, and we did feel each other as we clumsily kissed on the ground, far too drunk to coordinate ourselves properly. I was once again subjected to the same crushing embrace I had been longing for since the morning and I held him just as tightly, or as tightly as I could with my feeble arm strength.

We made love again, this time uninterrupted, and the combination of alcohol and a lack of speed in my system allowed me to fully let myself go. At this moment with no one around us for miles but crickets, fireflies and the occasional frog I felt as though we might have been the only two human beings left on planet earth in a post-apocalyptic future.

Every touch seemed to tingle and every laboured breath on my ear made me quiver, and though I had had a number of sexual encounters in my lifetime none could ever come close to this. It wasn't a matter of pleasure but a matter of complete attachment on both a physical and emotional level; it created within me a euphoric state void of all insecurity.

It amazed me how quickly ones life can change in a matter of hours; I had always expected myself to walk along the same road and suddenly I was one of those people who simply breaks the mould and changes their course. Whether I myself had broken this mould or Trevor did for me I was unsure, but I liked to attribute it a little to both of us.

In a place that I had never been before and knew little about Trevor had simply become everything. He was what I breathed and what I felt and most importantly he treated me as if I were a human being. I knew that even when I did inevitably have to leave Sandy Shores my life would never return to the state it had been in before I had met him.

When it was over we held each other for what what seemed to be an endless amount of time that I never wanted to end. Trevor planted kisses from my forehead down to my chest, slowly, each kiss sweeter than the next as I stroked his back methodically with my fingertips.

Between each kiss he told me, "You- are the most- amazing- woman- I have ever- met." Before pulling away from me and lifting up with him. I wrapped my legs and arms around him and pressed my lips to his neck.

He brought me back to the sea and let me go, proceeding to wash the sand off of my back and shoulders. Until now I had yet to notice both of us were covered in a layer of fine pebbles, this made me laugh unexpectedly, amplified by the amount of alcohol and endorphins tainting my mind. Trevor told me I was "a fucking adorable drunk" before leading me back to the truck and taking a swig of wine.

We spent the next few minutes searching for the clothes we had lost in our drunken stupor, Trevor swearing under his breath and kicking at heaps of sand. They were not too far from where we had begun our hunt but I supposed they were overlooked like those objects you look for for ages only to find them in the most likely of places.

It didn't faze me that Trevor was driving while under the influence of alcohol, nor did it bother me that he was driving while indeed drinking said alcohol that was influencing him. I actually found the premise of endangering my own life quite laughable at the moment, for it would mean I would die at the peak of my happiness.

As we drove I kept my body flung around him like a toddler hanging on to their mother's leg on their first day of pre-school. The world was swaying around me in an exquisite ballet routine as we blasted heavy metal tunes from the speakers so that everything in the truck vibrated. I could never imagine a more perfect night, even in my wildest dreams.

We pulled in to his dirt driveway, nicking the chain-link fence with the rearview-mirror as we did so. Trevor pulled the keys from the ignition in one swift movement and motioned for me to stay put before he stepped out the truck door. With immaculate footing he waltzed to the passenger's side and opened the door for me before lifting me out of the seat himself as if we might have been honeymooning in the most disgusting place on earth.

He kicked the door shut with his booted foot and carried me to our chipped-paint palace like any good old-fashioned lover-boy would. The fantastic nature of my thoughts almost verged on nauseating, but then again that may have been my blood-alcohol level talking.

Upon entering the trailer Trevor put me down and offered me more to drink, which I more than willingly accepted. For the sake of somewhere to rest we decided to move the ancient rabbit-ear television into his bedroom, where we spent the remainder of the night sipping at wine and watching terrible television sitcoms I assumed were popular amongst the inhabitants of Sandy Shores.

As we watched television and found pleasure in the stupidity of others we ate leftover cheeseburgers and asked one another a variety of questions. I found it quite bizarre that I had found more moral support in a man I knew nothing about than any family member or friend, and therefore I decided to make it my goal to learn most everything about him.

"I want to get to know you." I told him blatantly, "I want to know the legend that is Trevor Philips." I laughed to myself before beginning to unwrap another poorly constructed burger.

Trevor snickered with eyes still focused on the television screen, "Well tell me what you want to know then."

I was unsure where I could possibly begin, I felt as though I knew everything and nothing all at once before I managed to ask the first thing that came to my mind, "What's your favourite colour?"  
He scoffed and then burst forth in loud laughs, "Out of all the things you don't know about me you want to know my favourite fucking colour?"

I found myself laughing as well, "I mean, it's a good place to start. You can deduct a lot of psychological conclusions from someone's favourite colour, don't be so fucking condescending."

"Okay, alright, um…" He seemed now to be taking the question rather seriously, or as seriously as one could take such a simple question, "My favourite colour is… purple." I found myself chucking momentarily before he asked, "Why what's wrong with purple?" Sounding genuinely self-conscious even through his laughter.

"There's nothing wrong with purple. Purple's great." I stated, "It's the colour of royalty, you know."  
"Fucking right it's the colour of royalty." He mused, taking a gulp of wine. After a moment of silence he inquired, "Is that really all you wanted to know about me?"

"No, no… just let me think." I pondered for a few seconds before deciding on my next inquiry, "What do you do for a living?"

Trevor was hesitant before providing me with an answer, "I'll have you know I'm the CEO of a very prestigious corporation, Trevor Philips Enterprises." He stated this with some formality which drove me into a fit of foolish giggles. "Hey, I'm being completely serious!"  
"Okay, okay, I believe you. And what exactly is Trevor Philips Enterprises?" I questioned, knowing with most certainty that it would be some sort of illegal operation.

"Well, it's a kind of, pharmaceutical company… so to speak."  
"You're a drug dealer?" I quipped quickly.  
"_No, _I do no drug dealing whatsoever, I'm _way _above that kind of shit, alright? I have an army of people doing that for me." And at this he erupted in laughter once again, and I laughed alongside him. "If you think you're so high and mighty I'd like to know a few things about you too, missy."

"Shoot." I replied, ready to take on the world considering the amount of wine I had consumed.

He grinned at me, and this was when I knew I was in for it, "So you must be like 16 or something right? It can't be legal for me to be banging you right now, I'm fucking sure of it." And then more laughter.

"I'm 21! I already told you I was a university student," I smiled, " But either way I'm too young to be hanging around a geezer like you." And with this I tried to replicate his patented grin right back at him.

"Yeah, yeah, good one." He replied with some disdain, "And what is little miss Ivy League going to _university _for?" His words were loaded with sarcasm that I could only find hilarious at this point in time.

"Literature." I responded, awaiting the barrage of insults that were surely coming my way, and that surely had come my way many times before for having chosen such a seemingly useless subject to spend my time and money studying.

"Ah, I see, so that's why you were throwing at that Shakespearian crap at me last night." And then he grew quiet.

When no insult arose I felt genuinely surprised, "You're not going to tell me how stupid I am for studying something so useless?" I chuckled.

"What? Of course not, what kind of an asshole do you take me for. I had dreams of my own when I was your age. Too bad dreams never work out." At this he snickered; and there it was, the condescending 'when I was your age' speech I had received many times before from parental figures. I wondered how old Trevor in fact was but had no intention of asking after it having been driven into my skull that that simply was a very rude thing to ask anyone your senior.

We lied in bed for some time with arms around each other, watching obscenely propagandistic commercials as I began to doze off until Trevor spoke up, "Got anything else to ask me sugar?"

There was so much more I wanted to learn about him, especially the 'dreams' he had spoken of just before, but I found myself at a loss for words, it might have been the fact that I found myself in a state of complete exhaustion, "Hmm, not at the moment."

The last thing I remembered before falling into complete sleep was Trevor switching the television off after I had begun to lose control over my own consciousness. Besides passing out after my drug incident I had not gotten much sleep since my arrival at Los Santos via long, excruciating bus ride with the individuals I now refer to as my ex-companions.

Without fail I dreamt about Trevor the entire night; for some odd reason I always dreamt the most while under the influence of alcohol. The dreams I had were the kind of vivid delusions you experience during the night that you simply cannot manage to forget minutes after waking up, and that stay with you for weeks after you have them.


	13. Manipulative Bitch

It was the most unrealistic dream I could have imagined though it made perfect sense to me why I had dreamt it. I was an older woman with dry hair pulled into an unkempt bun and horrendously beige coloured clothing the likes you would find at a charity shop.

I sat on the decaying porch of Trevor's trailer, now more rusted and rotted than ever next to an even older man, with terrible bags under his eyes and little to no hair left on his head. Of course the man was Trevor himself, still wearing the same old dirty t-shirts and now hunched over in a cheap yellow lawn chair with a beer in hand.

It was a sight to see, I being an onlooker in my dream, as you often oddly tend to be when dreaming about yourself. Old me was clutching a book in her hands, some used copy of that Dickens' novel where we are left guessing if young Copperfield might indeed turn out to be the hero of his own life or not. Dreams are so distastefully symbolic.

Trevor continued to sip at his beer and I continued to read and we did not say a word to each other, the way people who have known one another for far too long and no longer feel the need to fill every moment with mindless chatter do. I rather enjoyed watching the two of us like this, old and silent and somehow managing to coexist.

I wondered if my future self had ever went home and finished her degree. Did she come back after some time or simply stay and abandon everything, all for one night of love with a man she did not know? As I watched her I felt both warmed and sick to my stomach, knowing my future was soon approaching and that I would have to choose a path to take.

The prospect of never returning home was absolutely ridiculous, yet I still found myself trying to resist it. It was when I realized I was dreaming that I awoke the next morning, and for a moment believing myself to have still been old me from my dream. It was Trevor's face that brought me back into reality, still in it's state of middle-aged, haggard perfection.

He slept with his hands clenching at me as if I might be abducted by aliens at any point in the night. I lightly pressed my lips to his forehead and caressed his arm until his body was no longer in a state of stress and his hands were able to relax. I slid away from him, gently and with great care not to wake him; he looked incredibly peaceful, breathing deeply and not emitting loud snores for the first time.

I wanted to go clean myself properly, this time not languidly scrubbing at myself while over dosing on drugs, and I wanted to put on a proper outfit, something other than the dingy shirt and sweat pants I had been sporting. I slipped out of Trevor's bed; the creaking mattress causing me to wince as I did so. Trevor rolled onto his back, still deep in sleep, mumbling incoherently.

Before making my way back to our makeshift shower I found myself observing Trevor's home in great detail. I touched unidentified crumbs on grimy countertops that stuck to the tips of my fingers, I picked up shards of glass from broken bottles and collected them in my hands, I admired the crack patterns in the water stained ceiling that looked to me like complex fractals.

The trailer was like an interactive work of art, painstakingly put together through years of neglect and torment. As I reached for the doorknob I was startled by the voice that had arisen behind me, it drove splinters into my spine, "What in the _fuck _do you think you're doing?" I had been so immersed in the world of the artistic showcase that I mustn't of heard him getting up, either that or he had made an explicit effort to creep up on me in silence.

The tone of his voice instilled guilt in me even though I hadn't done anything wrong; simply entertaining the thought that I had done something that Trevor found upsetting made me feel as though I were a terrible person.

Before I had the time to turn to face him or utter a word from my lips he was shouting and I did not dare speak until he was finished, "I should have known, how could I have been so fucking stupid? I knew you would go crawling back to those little cunts you call your friends, and now, on top of that, not even fucking tell me? To think I thought you were anything more than some dumb slut trying to get some free drinks out of me, hell, you're worse than that because you had to come back here and fuck with my life like the manipulative bitch that you are."

As he spoke he paced back and forth, not looking me in the eye or anywhere near me for that matter. His words did not bother me, a simple misunderstanding I supposed, it was the anger that had me taken aback. I knew more than well that he was capable of it, but I had yet to experience it so directly.

"If you think you can fuck with me like that then you've got something else coming sweetheart. Nobody, _nobody, _fucks with me. How did I not see this shit coming? How could I believe that for once in my pathetic fucking life that anyone would give two shits about me without asking anything in return? I'm such a fucking _stupid _sack of shit prick, fuck!" At this he kicked at the couch that was already well past it's prime the little stuffing it had flew out of it as he swore profusely.

A twang of sympathy fled my mind momentarily; despite the verbal abuse I couldn't manage to muster an ounce of sadness or anger, all I could feel was hollowness and pity for the most miserable man on earth.

I acted upon impulse without considering the possible danger in what I did, the likely danger. The premise of being murdered in cold blood by Trevor did not bother me in the slightest, I had nothing worth going home to anyways. What I did, I did out of the raw purity of my idiot heart, I grabbed his arm and pulled him to face me with all of my strength. At the moment nothing mattered more to me than fixing whatever part of Trevor I had accidentally smashed.

I could see it in his eyes, the fumes of absolute anger from the fire within. How I managed to speak up at that moment I will never know, and I did it without fear, "Trevor," I kept my voice calm and void of emotion, "Listen to me. I _wasn't _leaving. I was going to shower. I wouldn't lie to you." All was silent except for his deep breathing echoed by the trembling of his chest.

He yanked his arm away from me with a growl, turning away once again and bringing his hands to his forehead in frustration and continuing to pace back and forth. I stood there with my wrist slightly twisted from trying to hold on to Trevor as he pulled away and watched him act out his idiosyncrasies, observing his every movement.

"Will you stop fucking staring at me?" He demanded, voice slightly broken, "Just let me… Let me fucking think, okay?" He kept his hands over his eyes as though placing himself in somewhere very far away from me. I did as he told me to and retreated to the bedroom, taking a seat on the blood stained mattress and keeping still, not wanting to give up my façade of bravery.

I could hear grumbled swearing from the other side of the trailer, various sounds of things shattering and being broken and of course Trevor's heavy breaths, and then finally silence. I couldn't help but feel slightly worried; not quite trusting that his rage had subsided, I decided to give him another minute to recuperate.

It was at that moment that I heard them, the shattered sobs, starting small and then growing loud enough to be audible to me. He muttered hateful words to himself between overly-dramatic weeping. I returned to him; he sat on the floor surrounded by broken objects, an image I would forever keep in my mind as a perfect embodiment of his life. I did not hesitate to sit down beside him in the pile of what was now trash and what was likely trash to begin with.

"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I'm such a fucking asshole, I'm just so fucking fucked up, _fuck!_" His voice was filled with resentment, heavy and broken, "I'm a sorry ass sack of crap, son of a fucking bitch. I can't _fucking _control myself, you know? I just- I get these ideas in my head and I can't fucking stop myself. I'm an asshole, a mother fucking asshole! What is wrong with me?" He pounded the ground with his fist, an empty thud on cheap linoleum.

I didn't know what I could say to console him other than agree with him, "Even though all of that is true, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. You know, I have this _crazy _theory that you don't have to be what people deem to be stable to be a good person. I don't think anyone's stable, I don't think anyone's happy, I don't think anyone knows what they're here for, and they all try to fucking hide it. You're different, you don't hide it, and you don't pretend that you like anything about anyone or even about yourself, and even though you live in a trailer and manufacture drugs you're probably the most genuine person I've ever met, and I think that's pretty admirable."

Before I knew it I had gone into one of my rants on the meaning of life that I usually only indulged in whilst under the influence of alcohol. I inhaled a large amount of air to make up for all of the talking I had done, and I strangely felt my eyes beginning to water and immediately suppressed it.

After a moment of absolute quietness he expressed himself to me with a distinguished tone of honesty, "I'm afraid that you'll leave me."

I felt the bothersome lump in my throat rising as the guilt flooded my body. Not only did I know my departure was inevitable, but I now knew how painful it would be, and I could not bring myself to tell him I would never leave him no matter how much I wanted to, simply because I could not bring myself to lie to him.

Instead I held him, trying to avoid the inevitable and push terrible thoughts from my mind. I told him that I never wanted to leave him, because it was the truth, and I hoped more than anything that it would suffice.


	14. An Uninhabitable State of Decay

The incident was soon forgotten, or rather repressed. Neither of us said a word to each other; I had my shower, Trevor cracked open a beer, and the day was now able to begin without a hitch. Despite this I still had a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach that refused to leave me.

I changed into an outfit that was less suited for a homeless person and even bothered to apply some mascara, not that I believed I needed to impress anyone. I took the time to coordinate an outfit and pretended that I was in my own bedroom when in actuality I was idling by my lonesome in Trevor's hand-crafted garage.

When I returned to the trailer Trevor had more or less returned to his natural state of sarcasm and general good humour and the fact that he immediately mocked my appearance made me feel incredibly relieved.

He was lying on his bed, gazing upon the television screen until finally looking directly at me with some scrutiny once I was 2 feet away from him, "Well look at you, all dolled up. We going to a party tonight or something, so I can meet some more of your douche bag friends?" He cackled, "But seriously what's with all this?" At 'this' he gestured to my dress, which I had up until now believed to be incredibly casual.

"Hey, I don't tell you what to wear." I laughed, "Plus, I don't wear what I do to please you." I grinned at him, I was getting rather good at it if I did say so myself. I sat on the bed with a small hop, causing the mattress to groan in protest and tremble in all directions.

Trevor grinned back at me, grins had now seemed to become our form of non-verbal communication. "I'm just teasing, sugar. If you want to look like a high class hooker that's totally up to you." Then he patted the empty side of the bed where I belonged, gesturing for me to lie down alongside him, which I did while trying to control my laughter.

Without a word we watched day-time soap operas and ate left-over cheeseburgers for breakfast. I felt as though we were growing ever closer to the vision I had had in m dream, which both amused and disturbed me immensely.

Trevor cleared his throat, startling me slightly after almost an hour of brain-dead television viewing, "Um, I wanted to say that, um…" He fumbled with his diction trying to properly express himself, "What I wanted to say, I guess is that… well, thanks for not freaking out, you know, when I was freaking out- or, what I mean is, for putting up with me. I know I'm fucking insane." He laughed almost nervously.

His insecurities would always fascinate me, I could have never imagined I'd know them so well. The way he looked off to the ceiling as he spoke, the sudden blanks drawn from a usually well spoken tongue, the search for particular words, they all caused my heart to flutter as if I were watching tiny rabbits frolicking in a field.

"Just look at me for a second," I had always found that the best arguments were made whilst looking your opponent in the eyes, "Don't worry about it. I'm not _putting up _with you, I'm not _tolerating _you, believe it or not I actually enjoy your company. I have a keen ear for sincerity and I know not to take most things to heart, so honestly, don't feel bad, I've taken a lot more crap in my lifetime than a few nasty words someone didn't really mean."

We were now facing each other, and I hoped that I had gotten my point across without sounding too pathetic. I felt strangely maternal at this moment, as inappropriate as that may sound; I simply wanted to make whatever was eating him go away and lie to him, saying that everything would somehow get better.

Before I knew it he had lunged forward and kissed me, something which I was now becoming rather used to. This was probably the greatest form of therapy for the two of us, a display of our appreciation for one another that words simply could not fulfill. He pulled me towards him forcefully though no force was in fact necessary, a mannerism I quite liked.

It was at this moment that an electronic tune accompanied by a loud buzz cut our displays of affection short. Trevor immediately pulled away from me, leaving me with a thirst for him not yet quenched and an abundance of love with no one to receive it.

He reached into his pant pocket for a phone; up until now I had assumed Trevor had no need for any means of communication with the outside world, an unrealistic assumption assuming he did in fact run a large business. He let out a sigh as he observed the number appearing on his cellphone, "Excuse me for a minute will you sugar?"

Trevor sat up from the indent made permanent in his bed before answering; I curled my torso around his back as he made brief conversation, "What do you want now?… Yes… Yes… No… Do I have to do fucking everything around here?… Yeah, yeah… Okay I'll be there in a bit, you lazy fuck." The very prospect of him leaving produced moths in my stomach.

I felt my heart pounding as he got out of bed and told me, "I have to take care of some stuff, alright? The incompetent pricks I hired can't seem to get anything done without me." The anguish I was feeling must have been apparent on my face because he quickly added, "Don't worry about it though, I'll be back later today. You've just got to promise me one thing-" At this his voice grew somber with dramatic effect, "Don't open the door to anyone, alright?"

"I'm not 10 years old you know." I replied, feeling as though I were indeed 10 years old.

Trevor chuckled, "Well you do look pretty fucking close to it. Just don't answer the door, is that too much to ask? I've got enough problems on my hands without having someone kidnap you and hold you for ransom." He leaned towards me and kissed the top of my head as you would a teddy bear, "There's beer in the fridge, I think I've got some vodka lying around and uh… You've got enough burgers to last you a week so, I'd say you're good."

I wanted to cling to him and beg him not to leave me but my desire to keep whatever dignity Trevor still believed I had triumphed. To show my concern I decided a simple touch of the hand to his would be enough, not too indifferent, not too dependent. I smiled at him, "The fact that you trust me with your alcohol means a lot to me."

He grinned at me before turning away; I waited until I heard the door shut before burying my face in my hands and trying not to hyperventilate. I knew very well that I was overreacting but the rationality of my mind was having difficulty quieting my bodily reaction.

It was clear to me that I was a fool, and I wondered to myself if this what what love inevitably entailed, being a fool. I found myself pinching at my arms to draw my attention away from the slight panic I was experiencing, but when the anxiety did not subside I decided a beer was in order, a foolproof tactic.

I took to my feet and found myself a beer in a fridge filled with unknown lifeforms and unidentifiable smells. Thankfully beer is impervious to all outside contagions when properly sealed and I had always been a huge fan of neat sanitized packaging.

After a well needed and might I add, large sip of beer the idea suddenly occurred to me, as most great ideas do occur when one drinks beer. What I needed to preoccupy myself was surrounding me; it was the uninhabitable state of decay in which Trevor lived his everyday life.

Cleaning had always been an escape from stress for me, given that no one was pressuring me to clean, which would undoubtably ruin the fun of it immediately. It was a simple way to clear my mind and methodically scrub, sweep and wipe away every insignificant prickling insecurity that dwelled within my mind.

The challenge of this task would evidently be finding the means to clean things since I highly doubted Trevor possessed any sort of cleaning products. This was why I began my mission by picking up trash; old newspapers, broken bottles, empty boxes and pill bottles that were scattered around the entire trailer.

I strategically used the abundance of crumpled plastic bags I found hiding amongst the wreckage to dispose of the junk until everything had been neatly placed in a single pile of tiny bags. During my collection of garbage I had found a number of pieces of cloth which I then proceeded to use to wipe down the disturbingly discoloured table and countertops, using some vodka as a sterilizing agent.

Then I made my way to the walls and floors on which I used yet another vodka soaked rag to scrub at as best I could. Through all this I did not stop for a moment except to decide what my next task might be, and I silently took note of the shifts in sunlight through the shades of the small rounded windows.

Every time I heard a car engine nearby I would ever so slightly avert my attention from cleaning to carefully listening for the approaching heavy footsteps of the man I awaited. It had been a number of hours before I heard the distinguished booted steps I had been waiting for, though I had lost count or exactly how many hours it had been.

I felt my chest pound with excitement as I heard his steps approaching and I turned halfway around to face the door in a manner that would appear as though I had simply been turning towards it by chance and not because I was eagerly awaiting his return.

The door flew open abruptly leaving me rather stunned. I didn't know what exactly I had expected from him, but his appearance left me awestricken, covered in blood spatters that I had no hopes in guessing were his or another's.


	15. The Brain Surgeon

I gawked at him from afar without saying a word, probably looking incredibly stupid with my mouth agape and eyes widened; usually I was able to maintain quite a bit of composure in the face of surprise but this time seemed to be an exception.

With a half busted lip and dried blood dripping from it down to his chest he swivelled slightly to take note of the state of his trailer, having limited vision due to one eye being nearly swollen shut he spoke out hoarsely, "Wow, the place looks great!" with an unsightly smile.

Still frozen to the spot I attempted to ask what was clearly on my mind without seeming completely and utterly appalled, "What the hell happened!?" I failed to make myself sound composed even in the slightest. I allowed my eyes to wander about his body, taking note of bruises coming into formation in the discolouration of his skin as well as the darkened bloodstains in his clothes that could very well belong to him, or someone else which concerned me much less.

"Listen, before you go and get your panties in a knot, it's nothing serious, okay? Just a little scuffle about some business stuff, you know how it is." He shrugged before making his way over to the couch with a slight limp.

"Actually, no, I don't know how it is, please enlighten me." I scoffed, feeling uncertain as to whether I felt scared for his wellbeing or angry over his inability to take care of himself.

He leaned back on the cigarette-burnt plaid sofa with an exasperated sigh the likes of a teenager being told to clean their room, "Just get off my back about it, geez. I have enough mental anguish to deal with without you wanting to know who I've killed and why." Then he laughed in a manner that made me uncertain as to whether this was a joke or not. "Would you mind grabbing me a beer, sugar?"

I couldn't bring myself to respond immediately and instead sought out which bloodstains in fact belonged to Trevor, specifically the ones on his left leg, the one causing his limp. "What happened to your leg?" I asked, attempting to sound less judgemental even though I was indeed scrutinizing him with the judgement of a thousand army lieutenants.

"Nothing too serious. There may or may not be a bullet lodged somewhere in there though." He laughed light-heartedly as though a bullet may have been a splinter and a leg might have been a toe. My immediate reaction was to call an ambulance, something that remained embedded into my mind from a life that did not suit a man who had committed armed robbery and likely murder, or at least attempted murder, within the past 24 hours.

I made my way to towards the fridge, "I'll get you your beer, but you have to take your pants off." Somehow I managed to keep the tone of my voice serious, maybe it was the severity of the situation that only I seemed to be able to perceive.

"Wow, you really do drive a hard bargain." Trevor stated sarcastically, struggling to wriggle out of his sweatpants and wincing in discomfort.

Not only did I grab a can beer, but I also picked up the bottle of vodka I had been using to clean. "Take this, hold it to your eye." I placed the cold can forcefully to his chest. "This is going to hut a bit, or a lot, but it's better than infection so toughen the fuck up."

"Please don't tell me you're doing this now," he rolled his eyes back into his head, "I'll take care of it sooner or later, how do you think I've stayed alive this long, eh?" His pleading only tempted me further, I had no pity for what I knew I was about to do, it was for his own good and I knew he wouldn't fight me.

I dropped to my knees to assess the hole in his thigh, it was incredibly neat in contrast to the barbaric nature I associated with guns, perfectly round and perfectly red in colour. "I told you to put the can on your face, it'll reduce the swelling." I snapped at him, for whatever strange reason I had had it with his antics, I felt an odd combination of compassion and concern that could only manifest itself through deep frustration.

Trevor lifted the beer to his face with excessive exaggeration, pretending that it weighed an incredible amount. "That's a waste of good vodka you know." He spouted with exasperation.

"You know what, you're right, drink some and it won't hurt as much when I dig this bullet out of your leg." I held out the bottle to him with a bit more enthusiasm than I should have. He gave me a look of total and utter disgust before guzzling down a small portion of the bottle with inhuman tolerance to the liquor.

"I cannot believe I'm letting you fucking do this." He took in a deep breath and wiped away the vodka that had leaked from his mouth. "Do you even know what you're fucking doing?"

"I've watched enough medical shows to be a brain surgeon by now, trust me." I half-smiled at him and he half-smiled at me back as though we might have been playing a game of Operation whilst drinking amongst friends.

"Knives are in the drawer to the right, good luck sugar." He chuckled, taking another swig of alcohol and appearing far too relaxed considering circumstance.

I was beginning to believe that I was more nervous than he, the man about to undergo what might as well have been minor surgery. I wondered to myself if I had possibly bit off a bit more than I could chew, and if the spurt of courage I had felt no longer had the adrenaline available to continue to support it.

The knives being harboured in the pull-out drawer were not cutlery, they were a variety of knives of different shapes and sizes all covered in grime from years of use and neglect. It probably took me longer to clean my tool of choice than it would have in fact taken to perform brain surgery; a combination of how filthy it was and how frivolous I wanted to be with my sterilization.

Trevor mocked me as I prepared myself, a gesture that made me feel slightly more at ease about the situation at hand but that made me feel increasingly self conscious about my surgical skills. "Give me some of that vodka." I stated, "I don't work well under pressure." Then I let out a laugh, trying to expel some of my fear along with it.

"That's what I'm talking about! Let's get this shit done." He pressed the bottle opening to my mouth so that I could drink my liquid courage. I felt as surge of determination, as one often does after a shot of liquor, even know they know very well that it takes more than that to in fact influence your brain, and even though I knew that this was a placebo effect I would take what I could get.

The knife I had chosen was the closest thing to a butter knife I could have found, the edge had been dulled from questionable usage and the blade was in need of sharpening. I made sure to choose something a dull as possible so as not to cause any unnecessary damage and simply pry out the bullet as gently as I could.

I hadn't been lying when I told him I had indeed watched enough medical shows to be a brain surgeon. I knew almost everything there was to know about first aid but the only thing that was lacking was practice, and I knew that surgery wasn't meant to be a learning curve.

Before I managed to fall victim to my own cowardice once again I dropped to the ground and used the arm of the sofa to stable my shaking hands. It wasn't much help, but it was enough to make sure no amputations were about to be performed accidentally. He laughed at me as I tried to steady myself, "You should see your face right now."

Feeling as though I were about to throw up my entire digestive system I gradually lowered the knife towards the open wound. I decided to myself that the best possible method would be the same as ripping off an old bandaid, as quickly as possible so as not to prolong the pain.

"Are you ready? I'm going to count to three." I told him, knowing that I would be digging the knife into his leg on one rather than three, an old tactic used by the nurses at my elementary school whilst giving out flu shots to catch the child off guard so that they don't flinch and ruin the injection. Needless to say I knew their tricks after a year or two and the ploy was no longer effective on me.

"Are _you _ready? You look like you're about to pass out." He snickered.

"Okay, one…" I swiftly slid the tip of the knife into the bullet hole with as much precision as was humanly possible for me. I could feel the friction between two metals seconds later as Trevor yelled profanities and nearly ripped the remaining stuffing from the couch with clenches fists. I assured myself with absolute certainty that I had enough leverage to pry the bullet out in a clean and neat fashion before carefully arranging the knife at an angle and prying it out.

The whole procedure was too grotesque to bear though I somehow managed to bear it anyways; adrenaline can do strange things to the human body. Luckily I was able to hold my breakfast of day old cheeseburgers down and I mentally thanked whatever divine force had graced me with little to no gag reflex.

Before Trevor had the chance to move a muscle I used the edge of my dress, the only thing I trusted was clean in the trailer, and poorer vodka on it to disinfect the wound. I was once again subjected to an abundance of profanities as I padded him with the vodka soaked material, though this time I was able to laugh at them with much relief. "Don't be a baby, it's just a gaping hole in your muscle tissue." I taunted.


	16. Motherlode of Morphine

"Do you need me to kiss it better?" I mocked sweetly, puckering my lips into an obnoxious kissing shape and holding back laughter.

Trevor flicked the side of my head and gave me a look of sheer disgust before quipping, "I've got something else for you to kiss while you're down there sweetie." With the stress now alleviated from my body I found this incredibly funny, I laughed aloud half nervously and half hysterically, still unsure of whether or not I would have to throw up my organs within the next few minutes.

"Here, we'll use my dress to make dressings, pun intended." I snickered at my own terrible joke, "I know you don't like it anyway and I honestly just don't give a shit about it."

"I don't like anything you wear, I'd much rather you wear nothing." He grinned at me and I grinned back. I hacked off the edge of my dress until I had a neat strip of vodka soaked cotton and wrapped it in an orderly manner around his thigh as he kissed at the back of my neck. I never supposed flesh wounds and attempted medicine were a romantic affair but apparently they were.

As I attempted to tie off the bandage he bent forward, running his fingers up my thighs and what was left of my dress; I quickly formed a knot with the two frayed ends of cheap cotton and grasped at his hands, "What do you think you're doing?"

"The dress; I don't like it, you don't like it, so why are you wearing the damned thing?" He snickered, tightening his grip on my legs. I couldn't help but crack a smile, what an odd time for him to express his affections.

I let go of his hands and poked at his stomach, "To be honest I'm not really a fan of anything you wear either." And then his hands were gone, pulling off his shirt and flinging it across the room.

"Then I'll never wear anything ever again." He decided, once again leaning forward and planting kisses onto my neck. I laughed to myself; there was something so utterly perfect about this highly imperfect person, I simply wanted nothing more than to admire his every word and action for the remainder of my lifetime.

I lifted my dress from my body to return the favour and also told myself in that moment that I would never wear anything ever again either. Minding his freshly wrapped dressings, I made myself a comfortable seat in his lap and began eyeing the rest of his torso for injuries I would not have seen otherwise while he buried his face into my chest and fumbled with the hooks on my unsightly pink bra.

He had a number of darkened and slightly inflamed areas that were clearly from brute contact with a blunt force such as a fist or steel-toed shoe. Even though it had only been a number of hours since I had last seen him they were already darkening into shades of blues and purples too beautiful to be as painful as they appeared to be.

I ran my fingers over them delicately, finding more of them scattered around his ribs and back in an array of strange constellations. "You need to put ice on these." I informed him as I shrugged off the bra he had been grappling with, "I wasn't aware you had a part time job as a personal punching-bag."

"Ha ha, very funny," his voice muffled into my hair, "If you actually want to make me feel better just fuck me already, do you know how fucking many pain-killers the brain releases during sex?" He laughed, pulling at my underwear in a fashion I thought might tear their seams apart.

"Yes I am well aware of the effects of endorphins. Is it that unreasonable for me to assume you have a motherlode of morphine stocked somewhere around this place though? Who needs endorphins when you've got an arsenal of drugs." I kissed at his shoulders, laughing still.

"Don't kid yourself, you're 10 times better than morphine." How is it possible that these simple words made me want to burst into tears? Of course I didn't actually burst into tears but I felt a twinge of an outburst on the tip of my being. How could I possibly deny this man anything? I was absolutely wrapped around his finger, hanging on his every word and stuck to him like gum on a filthy boot.

In a strange fashion I felt fearful for myself, not only because I knew I would never be this happy again in my lifetime even if I won the lottery, but also because I knew I was losing my sense of self. Given a normal relationship this wouldn't necessarily prove problematic; becoming so attached to someone that you feel that they're a part of you can be a very rewarding experience, but clearly this wasn't what anyone might consider a normal relationship.

I didn't want to reveal how deeply what he said had touched me, nor give away the deadly concoction of emotions brewing within me. I brought my hands to his face, cupping it as you would a shaken snow globe to admire the graceful falling artificial flakes, and I kissed him. I did it softly and with depth, as if thanking him simply for existing, and for all that he had done for me thus far.

I held his face still so that I could kiss him for as long as I saw fit, which was somewhat prolonged time for a single kiss. And still, no matter how hard I tried the very same lump rose in my throat and I knew that if I opened my eyes there would surely be tears there. I absolutely hated my lack of self control in the face of my own emotions.

I let go of his face and leaned my head on his shoulder so as though he wouldn't be able to take notice of my nonsensical teariness. "I missed having you around today." I told him, somehow managing to keep my tone of voice somewhat casual.

He let out a laugh, likely already aware that I was feeling overly sentimental, I being the terrible liar that I am, "I missed you too sugar-tits, now lighten the fuck up. Christ, you'd think I fucking drugged you again or something." At this I smiled and took in a deep breath, pushing back my overwhelming irrationality.

"I'm actually never like this, I think being around you brings out my hysteria." I scoffed, bringing my head back up to look him in the eyes.

"Yeah I tend to get that a lot." He smiled back before returning to the task of getting me completely nude, which he soon succeeded in completing and I returned the favour to him.

I wondered why I felt this strange sense of owing something to him; was it because he was seemingly the first person I'd encountered who had made the effort to treat me with unquestionable kindness? There was no doubt in my mind that I was in love with the man, could that be the cause of this debt I imagined I owed, a favour for loving me or an apology for my love being unable of attaining any definite permanence?

It was quite an experience to be a more dominant lover, a role forced upon me in a way, considering Trevor's injuries. I felt empowered and yet highly insecure, conscious of my every movement as if in one fell swoop I could suddenly destroy everything.

He told me he adored me and that I was a goddess, he spoke words poetic enough to convince me I was making love to Petrarch and not unkempt trailer-trash. In another lifetime he could have been a tragic hero of a writer, high in opium dens crafting fantastic thought-provoking tales combining hilarity and misery and praised for his truest-of-true depiction of depraved human nature, something he was all too familiar with.

He also told me to hurt him; a request that had me momentarily taken aback, and though I did not care to cause him any pain if it meant a greater pleasure than I had to comply without question. I knew by whatever standards of pain a man such as Trevor had experienced that my attempts at _hurting _him, if it could even be referred to as such, were tame to say the least.

I found it difficult to take myself seriously as I pulled at his hair and clawed at his chest with flimsy fingernails. I tried my hardest to not to laugh as I bit at his neck and dug my nails into his backside; I felt as though I were enacting a scene from a terrible erotic film. At least he seemed to enjoy it, if only for the comedic value of my performance, I had always believed laughter to be a necessary part of any relationship and especially for relationships of a sexual nature.

My stomach sank in my abdomen when I accidentally drew blood from his already mangled lip and tasted the distinct metallic bitterness of blood on my tongue. There was something oddly romantic about that moment as I observed the blood on his lips and he mine before we immediately enveloped ourselves in each other, blood and all.

Afterwards we were in and out of sleep for some time on the sofa, waking up only to reposition ourselves and toss and turn over beat up cushions. It was late in the night when we finally got up to drink beer and eat cheeseburgers in bed, watching late night infomercials and cackling profusely.

It was around 2 in the morning when there was noise from outside the trailer, a car engine and headlights intruding on our festivities and causing Trevor to have to get up and peer through shaded windows in a most careful and quiet manner that was quite unbecoming of him and that I had never seen him use up until that moment.

I grasped at his arm as he brought himself to a standing position from the bed and looked him in the eyes with unspoken pleading, "It's nothing." I told him, and still he motioned for me to be silent as if having mastered some keen 6th sense that altered him to malicious intent.


	17. Hide

The room filled up with empty silence as the car engine rumbled outside in a low menacing growl. The rumble of the motor caused me to tremble even from the road, and whatever intuition I had told me that something was awry. I eyed Trevor as he tiptoed towards the crooked blinds lining the frontward-facing window and gazed though them with a squint in his eyes.

I carefully observed his facial expression though it was difficult to make sense of it because it remained mostly blank. After seconds dragged on into minutes that felt as though they were hours I watched his brows furrow into a disheartening frown. He back away from the glass slowly and gestured for me to come to him, which I did as quickly as I could without making a sound.

His teeth were clenched as he spoke to me in heated whispers, "It's just a bunch of cock-sucking motherfuckers from another business, it's nothing I can't handle but they can't know you're in here though or else they might get some funny ideas about using you against me."

By the tone of what he had said to me I could tell I was the only thing stopping him from busting out the heavy artillery and going completely insane on whoever dared come to his humble abode at this hour of the night. It was nice to know that he cared enough about me not to disregard my life for the sake of some intensified bloodlust.

With a tingling sensation in my chest I asked, "Is there anything I can do?" knowing that I in fact could do nothing helpful at this moment in time. The question was simply posed so that I might have another few moments with him before potential disaster.

"Hide." Was all he told me before shoving me towards the bedroom closet and pulling a gun from a kitchen cabinet high on the wall. I once again felt the same terrible anxieties about guns and their implications, but to top that off I was also incredibly worried for Trevor's life.

As I sat myself in the corner of the cramped rectangular box akin to a coffin and shut the door behind myself I could only feel paralyzing fear for him and little to none for myself. There was something about the idea of dying like this that I found highly exciting but if Trevor were to die and no one took notice of me hiding then I would consequently have to go back to how things were prior.

I knew that what I was thinking would sound absolutely terrible if put into speech, 'I would rather die than go home and continue with my life,' there wasn't actually much wrong with my life to the naked eye, and many would criticize me for saying so. But in that moment of crippling fear as I huddled in a ball with splintered wood jabbing at by backside these were my thoughts and I could not escape them.

I wanted more than anything to run out of the trailer and stop whatever was about to happen, I would say, 'Don't you see? We're all human beings, we're one in the same, can't we all just get along?' and everyone would begin to cry and hug each other and give up their lives of violence and crime. At least that's what would happen in the screenplay of my life where everything was fine and dandy.

And yet all I could do was sit and tremble and wish death upon myself for strange and selfish reasons. I felt completely sick to my stomach and claustrophobic, and this could have either been caused by the limited space I was hiding in or the limitations I would face if and when I had to return home.

Once again, as it seemed to be becoming a daily occurrence, I found myself bawling my eyes out like a little girl, or a fully grown girl with no control over her emotions. I buried my face into my palms so that I could see no more of the light creeping through the closet doors and onto my body, but this simply wasn't enough to comfort me.

I heard the trailer door both open and close and awaited sounds of horrific acts of violence from outside. I had never in my life been within listening distance of acts such as these, and though I had seen every horror film and serial killer documentary known to man none could immunize me to experiencing it first hand.

It was then that sharp pops resonated through the trailer and into my ears, there was no escaping it even when I pressed my hands to the sides of my head with all of my strength, it made it's way into my mind no matter how hard I tried to keep it out. There were plenty of them, one after the other with little room for silence in between, and with each air splitting crack I found myself crying harder.

I had the odd impression that I would forever be stuck in this state, curled into a human ball in a cramped cupboard listening to shot after shot of pure senseless hatred. It may as well have been an eternity because it felt like exactly that; I was trapped not only in this box but in my own head, sinking into a mixture of darkest emotions.

The noise slowed to a stop, and for a short while I heard nothing but the sound of my own broken sobs. In my mind everyone was gone, far away or ceasing to exist completely, and I was completely and utterly alone. I saw no issue with staying there forever, hidden away in the closet and never having to return to anything I had ever known. Here was better than anywhere else I could have imagined at the moment.

I wished to myself that no one would ever find me there and as I did I was interrupted by the hard aluminum smash of the trailer door being forced open. For a second I hoped whoever it was may simply shoot me on the spot if I were found, not even considering the possibility of Trevor's survival.

Of course I was wrong in ignoring this outcome, and felt somewhat guilty for doubting him. I recognized him immediately by his heavy breathing and the sound of his footsteps, before he even called out to me, "Nora, get your shit together, we're leaving."

Though this words echoed throughout the trailer I simply couldn't bring myself to move. I wiped away the mess that was my face after all of my tears before he could open the door and grab me by the arm and pull me out with a sharp tug that caused a twist in my shoulder.

It was quite painful but I did not reveal that to Trevor, not wanted to put any excess stress on him or allow him to think I had a poor excuse for pain tolerance. I must have looked an absolute mess from all the pitiful brooding but he did not seem to notice, continuing to pull me forward until I was out of the bedroom completely.

Finally he turned to face me, eyes wild with an excitement I couldn't understand, "Don't worry, I took care of everything, but it'll only be a matter of time until some of their inbred fuck-faced friends come looking for them. We're just gonna lie low, alright? The only reason I give a shit is because you're here, otherwise I'd just wait things out here with a grenade launcher." At this he laughed somewhat maniacally, causing my stomach to churn.

There was an air of giddiness to him that frightened me profoundly even though he did in fact want to protect me. I detected within him an overwhelming pride in whatever he had just done to whoever was outside his house. The tender feelings I had for Trevor were still somewhere deep within me but what immediately occupied my mind at this time was nothing but fear.

Trevor did not seem to notice the horrific state of emotional wreckage I was in, but this could have been due to the gravity of the situation at hand; regardless it left me feeling slightly disturbed, "The front lawn's a mess but don't worry about it, we'll be out of here soon. Just get your shit together." He told me quickly before ushering me towards the open door.

I stood frozen to the spot, unable to face whatever lied just beyond that doorway. I had never seen a dead body before, I had never experienced anything like this in my entire 21 years on this earth and I simply was not ready to accept that this was the day all of it would come to light in one enormous mess of blood and chaos.

"Come on, what the fuck are you waiting for?" He asked impatiently before there was a sudden and immediate change in his tone of voice, as if gentleman Trevor had abruptly shoved psychotic Trevor to the side, "You're okay, right?"

I nodded unconvincingly, giving him a pathetic excuse for a smile. And there it was, the Trevor from this evening, the change was evident in every aspect of his being: posture, gaze, voice. He took a step towards me, "I did what I had to do. I know you're scared but this is _not _the fucking time; just trust me."

I did trust him. I trusted in him unconditionally, and I knew with some certainty that this would be to my detriment. I took his hand in mine with eyes threatening to water and took a deep breath, "I trust you." We smiled at each other, this time with sincerity, and I knew from that moment on that whatever fate I had, if fate in fact existed, had been sealed.


	18. Nothing is Something

Upon exiting Trevor's trailer I mentally prepared myself for the carnage I was about to see; I envisioned thousands of bodies and rivers of blood so that whatever I may face would become nothing in comparison. With eyes half shut I observed my surroundings; it was quite dark and all was still, only the sound of crickets were heard.

I opened my eyes fully to what surrounded me, convinced that I had brainwashed myself into being alright. It wasn't nearly as traumatic as I had expected it to be; there were 4 or 5 bodies scattered about the lawn and driveway, most of which having been shot directly in the head.

The fact that their deaths were likely instantaneous comforted me to some extent. They also appeared to me to be peaceful, lying there like fair maidens lounging in their bedchambers, eyes shut and faces dulled with boredom. The blood appeared black in the darkness of the night as it trickled down their faces and mingled with dirt and dried yellow grass.

It was strangely fascinating to look at, humans so completely void of life but freshly gone so that they appeared to be sleeping. Scenes from slasher flicks where the corpse suddenly jumps from the ground in a sudden and cliché turn of events flashed though my mind as I gazed upon them.

I felt very little at that moment and I wondered if I should feel guilty about not feeling anything. The detachment and indifference that flooded me made me shudder, and it seemed bizarre that watching these events unfold on the television might have gotten more of a rise out of me than it did at the moment.

Trevor tapped at my shoulder and motioned for me to go to the garage to collect my belongings, which I did, having to step over a body of a young man as I did so. He was below average height in stature with misshapen sideburns and a sunburnt nose; I convinced myself that by acknowledging his appearance I was doing him some sort of justice.

I grabbed my lime-green duffle bag and returned to Trevor who was readily seated in his truck awaiting my arrival. He took my bag from me and threw it into the trunk before bringing the engine to life and backing out of his driveway. I wondered if I would ever return to this place, and if I would look back upon it with fond nostalgic memories or recollections of human slaughter.

Though I hadn't witnessed the murders first hand it didn't faze me much to know that I was in love with someone who had intentionally taken the lives of others. Maybe it was because I had already assumed such things about him long ago, but I still would have expected myself to be a little more perturbed by these events.

As we drove into the darkness, away from dismal Sandy Shores, I finally decided what I needed to ask to soothe my racing mind, "Is it terrible that I don't feel anything right now? You know, I can't help but feel that I should be feeling something right now like, anger, sadness, fear or even joy or something at least. I don't feel a god damn thing." My voice was shaky and uncertain.

"You don't have to feel anything." He told me simply, "Nothing is kind of like something." He glanced at me momentarily before averting his eyes to the road. I understood what he meant even though at the same time I didn't; at least it was slightly reassuring.

"Can I ask you something else?" My voice continued to tremble even though I felt void of my emotions, I suppose it was because my nerves had yet to settle. Trevor replied with a nod, keeping his eyes fixed to the highway. "How did you end up here, doing these kinds of things? If you don't mind me asking."

"Shit happens," he responded bleakly, "You try different shit, shit doesn't work out and then, lo and behold, more shit. And then you just kind of have to settle for doing shit and before you know it you're running a meth lab and beating the shit out of some crack-head for looking at you funny."

Though this would have been hilarious at any other point in time we both remained quiet. "And what shit did you do before you did this shit?" I inquired.

"Flying jets." He stated simply. It was hard to imagine a Trevor with such ambitions, or imagine him pursuing a life other than the one he had unfortunately ended up with. It was strange that I was a little taken aback because I could imagine him perfectly with an unkempt little uniform, bombing the world and loving every minute of it.

I had no desire to ask what happened to these ambitions or what stopped him from pursuing them, instead I asked him if he enjoyed flying jets, to which he replied, "Yes."

"What did you like most about it?" I inquired, observing his facial expression as I did; it appeared somewhat nostalgic, but mostly blank.

"Not being stuck down here with roads and sidewalks and fucking fences and walls and every little fucking thing in my way." He frowned slightly as the agitation grew clear in his tone of voice. "I guess it's that when you're flying there's no boundaries, you know? I could go wherever the fuck I pleased and there was nothing stopping me."

I felt bad for bringing up unwanted memories and simply wanted to reassure him, "From what I can tell you don't let anything get in your way regardless; if that's worth anything."

He let out a sigh, making me feel even worse, "Let me tell you something, there's a difference between actually having freedom, and doing whatever the fuck you want. Just because I lack a fucking filter doesn't mean I'm free; freedom is not having to fight for everything that you want, it's being able to get up and fucking do things without having to push every _fucking_ step of the way."

He was perfectly right in saying this and I bit my lip in realizing a was a fool for ever bringing any of this up. How had I not known this would be upsetting for him? I was selfish for asking insensitive questions simply to settle my petty curiosities.

Trevor still carried the same frown on his face and I decided that an apology was in order if I actually intended to redeem myself, "You're right. I'm sorry Trevor."

"No no no no, don't be sorry." He finally turned to face me, expression immediately changing, "I'm just being a big fucking baby, don't mind me." He gave me a smile that I couldn't tell was genuine or not.

I half-smiled back at him though still upset for having strummed some repressed chord within him, "Okay. You are right though, about the whole freedom thing. I get it. I mean, you go about your entire life believing you're free and then one day you find something that makes you realize you never really were. It's like living in a box and but never knowing there was anything on the outside, and then finally someone opens it and you feel as though the whole world is yours to explore. No one deserves to be put back inside after that, it wouldn't be living."

His expression remained blank and he took in a deep breath, I was unsure as to whether I had said the right thing or not and found my heart to be pounding in my chest. And then it occurred to me that what I had been saying wasn't solely addressed to Trevor, it was something I too needed to hear.

I opened my mouth and without thinking I said exactly what my mind had come to grasp, "I never knew real freedom up until a few days ago, when I met you." My heart continued to pound and my chest trembled as though a 2 ton weight had suddenly been lifted from it. We turned to each other with expressionless stares, what I had said had surprised even me.

We got off at the nearest exit and Trevor pulled into the parking lot of a gas station. He turned off the engine and brought an arm to my waist, pulling me towards him into a bit of an awkward embrace.

I collapsed into his chest, burying myself into him, and we simply sat there holding each other without saying a word, not that there were any words that needed to be said. I knew that some day soon I would once again be confined to a box with no means to leave it and I knew that as I clung to Trevor I was clinging to pieces of freedom that were slowly crumbling in my arms.

My idiot self wanted to cry again but I couldn't bring myself to ruin such a perfect moment, I wanted to look back on it fondly. I took slow deep breaths wishing that I could just inhale him completely and contaminate myself with his entire essence, so that I might possibly never be accepted into normal society again and could stay here.

He squeezed me tighter before letting me go and bringing the car around to get gas. I couldn't help but watch his every movement, how he walked, how he bent down to open the fuel door of his truck, how he unscrewed the gas cap and filled the tank with gas that I knew he would not pay for. He was perfect in the worst of ways and imperfect in the best of ways, just looking at him made me want to create art that I knew could never capture him.

When he got back in the car I told him I loved him, directly for the first time without regret or fear. He told me I should try and get some sleep and that when I woke up we would be somewhere new and he would treat me to breakfast. I made myself comfortable with my head in his lap, and felt oddly at ease for being in the company of someone who had just committed 4 or 5 murders.


	19. Lieutenant Philips

I awoke to a rising sun and had one of those moments where you're sleeping somewhere unfamiliar and you wake up having forgotten where you are and how you got there. I jolted slightly, knocking my head onto Trevor's elbow and returning to reality; he laughed at me.

"Rise and shine sugar-tits, we're in the city of silicon and desperation!" He exclaimed somewhat enthusiastically for someone who had been driving for a number of hours. I rolled to my side and looked up at him as he grinned at me, eyes rimmed with purple hued rings of pure sleeplessness.

I brought myself into a sitting position and leaned my still half-sleeping body onto his side. What surrounded me was Vinewood lit by a blazing iridescent sunrise. It shimmered with windows of tall pointed buildings and glistened with greasy street vendors setting up shop for the morning.

"I think I liked the desert more." I stated, knowing full well that my mind had joined the ideas of Trevor and the desert together and this was likely why I was partial to the bleak and dying landscape that would otherwise have appeared to me to have been a wasteland of depravity.

"Yeah, I feel the same way," he said, twisting his face into a look of disgust, "This place is fucking fictitious, it's all made of god damn plastic, but still, here we are, so we might as well grab an overpriced sandwich at some pretentious shit-hole café."

"You know you can be quite well spoken when you want to be." I told him, rubbing at my tired eyes with the backs of my hand and smirking, "You should write poetry." Even though I played it off as sarcasm I remained semi-serious in my mind, imagining myself one day to be interpreting the works of 21st century poetic genius Trevor Philips in one of my university classes.

Trevor burst forth in laughter, "That may just be the funniest shit I've ever heard. I regret to inform you that I can't spell for shit and am far too important a business man to have time for that crap."

I smiled, "You know all joking aside I'm actually kind of serious. Maybe I'll just start jotting down all of the insight you spout and turn it into a book of freeform poetry and sell it to publishers for hundreds of thousands of dollars." I imagined what the cover of my the book might looks like, beer and blood stained.

"As long as I don't have to fucking write anything." He scoffed.

"Of course you won't," I replied, "I'll be the the Plato to your Socrates, all of your known wisdom will have been taken down by some cocky scholar looking to put in their two cents. Who was the real Trevor Philips, people might ask, but they will never know the full extent of your wisdom." I somehow managed to keep a straight face as I gave him this speech, using exaggerated hand gestures o distract myself.

Trevor continued to laugh loudly before telling me, "I'm starting to think you're more fucking insane than I am. Maybe it's contagious or something; it wouldn't surprise me."

In my mind I decided what it would be called, 'The Troublesome Tribulations of Trevor: Trials of Tumultuous Turmoil. Volume I of IV.' I giggled to myself as I thought through various T words to fit into my rhythmic title; it was such a shame that his last name didn't also begin with a T. It was very possible that I had gone insane, but it simply couldn't be helped anymore.

We did indeed stop at a pretentiously overpriced café for our breakfast, picking up two bacon and egg sandwiches that were prepared in a microwave, and a coffee for myself filled with sugar but otherwise black. Trevor had no need for such feeble doses of caffeine considering he had a seemingly endless supply of tiny white pills capable of endowing a man with infinite energy.

It just so happened that adjacent to the pretentiously overpriced café was a pretentiously overpriced hotel, hideously beige in colour and towering in stature. "What do you think about this place?" Trevor asked me, nodding to the gold gilded French doors.

"It kind of makes me want to throw up my breakfast." I contorted my face into a look of only semi-feigned disgust.

"_Perfect_, let's get ourselves a room." He enthused, pushing me towards the entrance as I attempted to keep my feet glued to the spot. I was reluctant to believe that Trevor could afford anything of this sort but I was also reluctant to ask how he intended on paying for it; for all I knew he planned to take over the hotel one employee at a time and turn them into workers for Trevor Philips Enterprises, the hotel being his newest headquarters.

He pushed the door open with a single hand, smudging the shine of the door handles with sweating fingers, "After you." He held it open, bowing down ridiculously low as he ushered me forward.

It was the look on the face of the desk clerk that caused me to laugh, the perfect mixture of fear and disgust that arose on his face as he attempted to maintain a professional composure whilst Trevor strode towards the front desk. He flinched as Trevor placed his hands onto the pearlescent countertop with a light thud that resonated throughout the empty lobby.

"Please excuse my wife, she doesn't speak any English and she's fucking high off her shit right now," He pointed to me as I continued to fail to control my own laughter, "My mail-order bride and I would like to stay in your finest honeymoon sweet, nothing too cheesy though, I want the classy pent-house shit, not plastic rose petals and heart-shaped horse-shit."

The clerk stood there with his mouth ajar as if wanting to answer Trevor as if he were a normal human being but not quite being able to bring himself to do so, "A-And how do you plan on paying for that, sir?" The question I had been afraid to ask.

"Oh, I don't know how about, none of your fucking business? Cash, credit, cheque, my fucking blood and sweat- Jesus Christ, just because I look like I crawled out of a dumpster doesn't change the fact that I fought for your fucking flag-burning ass in Vietnam!" He slammed his fist onto the desktop and brought his face uncomfortably close to that of the petrified clerk, "Now how about showing a little _fucking _respect and showing this fine lady and I to our room?" Trevor prodded at his chest, poking his navy striped tie.

"Yes sir, I apologize sir." The clerk sputtered, arms glued to his sides as if he were talking to his drill sergeant; the only thing missing was the hand to head salute and any kind of admiration.

"That's Lieutenant Philips to you!" He clenched his fist around the clerk's fluorescent white lapel before allowing him to scramble backwards and fumble through keys in a most frantic manner.

I simply couldn't stop myself from laughing through the feeble attempt by my hands to suppress it. I pitied the poor man, with his neatly combed curls and freckles flicked across his face, a couple of lines in his forehead but an otherwise youthful pink complexion; he was adorable, his name tag told me his name, 'Theodore'.

It confused me as to why I was so taken with him, I enjoyed observing his fear and his trembling fingertips. Maybe he reminded me of how I had once been a slave to words as well, they had controlled me regardless of whether or not they were true. I thought to myself how insignificant his fears were in the scheme of mine and Trevor's lives, and how a bodily reaction that was once necessary to keep us alive now prevented most of us from living.

I was brought back to the present situation by Trevor's hand sliding itself onto my shoulder and then down my arm and into my hand, he grinned at me as I bit at my hand, smothering the remainder of my giggles.

We followed the quivering clerk into the elevator where Trevor kissed at the back of my head, keeping his arms around me and Theodore stood still with his head hung downward and eyes fixed on the single number 14 lit up on the keypad. I had always appreciated the lovely sinking feeling of your internal organs as gravity did its work in an elevating cabin, both sickening and soothing at the same time.

The 'bing' indicating our arrival on the 14th floor caused Theodore to jolt before rushing out of the compartment before the doors had even had the chance to open completely. "This way, please," He huffed, "Your room is 1404." He gestured with his hand to the door to our immediate right and smiled the most insincere of smiles I had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

He dangled the key, outstretching his arm as far as possible so as though not having to come within a close proximity of Lieutenant Philips. Trevor snatched the room key from his hand, "Thank you _very much…_"And glancing at his name tag, "Teddy." His grin had become a toxic one.

When none of us made a move and young Theodore glanced uncomfortably from Trevor to me and then back again, Trevor chuckled, "What are you waiting for, a fucking invitation?" And then quite loudly, "Get out of my fucking sight!" This was enough to make the poor young man run, not walk or jog, towards the stairwell, the elevator evidently not being a quick enough escape.

Trevor laughed to himself as he forced the key into the door and muttering, "asshole," and I couldn't help but feel bad for whatever consequences Theodore would have to face after the inevitable destruction of suite 1404, and the untimely check-out of Mr. Philips lacking in payment for his stay.


	20. Home, Home, Home

The room was far too white to go unstained, it screamed to become Trevor's latest masterpiece. White walls, white carpet, white sheets, white tile and shower curtain; like the first snowfall we would vandalize it with foot-prints.

Trevor kicked off his heavy boots so that they collided loudly with the victorian wallpaper and got himself a running start before launching himself face first into the feather filled comforter. I slid off my shoes, placing them neatly in front of the doorway before hooking the two extra locks securely into place.

I took notice of the frames lining the walls, duplicates of terribly floral rococo paintings of ladies on swings in big bustling pink gowns, thriving in the ecstasy of leisurely life. They were the only things that brought colour to the otherwise bland modern take on a hotel room.

"I'm just gonna… Take a nap… Alright, sugar?" Trevor droned out with mouth buried into piles of pillows and body limp and stretched out over the entirety of the mattress. Before I could bring myself to say anything the room was filled with his snores, first very quiet and growing louder with every passing moment.

He deserved to rest after a night of driving and homicide, and I decided to take this opportunity to charge my phone, something that had been long forgotten in my bag after my overdue dispute with my ex-companions. I held it in my hand and gawked at the piece of technology I simply did not care to return to.

I opened the sliding glass doors to the bathroom nearly the size of Trevor's trailer and made myself a seat on the cold tile beside the electrical socket. It took me a few moments to gather up the courage to plug my phone into the wall, knowing very well what kind of hate-filled messages awaited me.

Of course there were the messages from the night of our arrival; the "Hey, we're leaving where are you?" and "Where the fuck are you?" and "We'll meet you back at the trailer." Then from the following morning the, "Nora this isn't funny." and "Answer your fucking phone." and "If you aren't dead right now I'm going to be fucking pissed." I supposed that was when I dragged my sorry self back to them because after that I had received nothing.

I also had a number of voicemails, the first being from Quinn in her state of semi-caring for my well being, "Nora I'm actually freaking the _fuck _out right now, you better be dead or almost dead right now or you're _seriously _in for it. I am going to fucking murder you in cold blood if you're okay, I can't believe you would pull this shit while we're on vacation." I felt no pity for having ruined her vacation, it had only made mine vastly better.

The second voicemail was from my mother who I hadn't seen since my Christmas travels back home to my family. Hearing the sound of her voice produced an abundance of strange sentimental emotions, "Hi sweetie, it's your mom. I'm just calling to check up on you and hear about your trip but you're probably completely drunk out of your mind right now so I don't blame you for not answering your phone. I just wanted to say that I love you and hope you're having fun!"

Once again I was crying; the few months away from her and now this week even further away from her suddenly came crashing down on my parade of forbidden love and alcohol. I immediately deleted her message so I would not find myself tempted to listen to it again and amplify my downward spiral.

I missed my home terribly. My dormitory was a four hour drive from my family so I had never felt quite so separated from them as I had now. On top of this I had the nagging and condescension from my so-called friends to make up for the nagging and condescension I would have experienced back home.

For the first time since I had met him Trevor was absent from my mind, and all I could think about was home, home, home. My mom making me waffles for breakfast on my very first day of school then sending me off with a chuckle as I cried my heart out in fear, my old grey cat that mauled me when I tried to bathe it at the age of 7, the dreaded lasagna night and that time I told my mom to 'fuck off' without fully knowing what it meant; miscellaneous memories flooded my mind as I leaned onto the marble wall.

I almost felt as though I had entered an alternate reality where I had no hopes of returning to my other life, assuming I had actually begun an entirely new life. To preoccupy my mind I opened a game of solitaire on my phone, how fitting it was to my moment of solitude seemed to cheer me up somewhat.

A hot shower would do me very good, scalding hot and steaming my brain clear of sadness. I neatly arranged my shampoo, conditioner and soap bottles on the countertop of the bathroom vanity; I was almost shocked by my own reflection, having not seen it since the night of my arrival when I checked to see if my makeup looked presentable before entering The Janitor's Closet.

I still had smudged mascara orbiting my eyes, which were pink and inflamed from my bawling like a baby. My hair was tangled and my lips were lacking in some of their colour. As I observed my dark circles and frown and noted that whatever caused Trevor to look the way he did was likely contagious.

I brought a baby wipe to my face and a comb to my hair and did my best to reveal who was really underneath all of the dirt, but still there was something about my face I couldn't put my finger on. I knew it was impossible for me to have changed within the span of a few days and I likened this uneasy feeling to a purely psychological reaction to the changes that had occurred so suddenly in my life.

I took off my torn dress and threw it into the porcelain trash bin underneath the porcelain sink. There were a number of instances of bruised skin around my neck and breasts evidently caused by Trevor's affections; I could have connected them to form a new constellation.

And there it was, my mind casually making its way back to him; I felt somewhat guilty about it as well. I told myself that I needn't upset myself further and that I _would _return home and that I _would _see my family again and that I _should _be enjoying myself during my spring break even if circumstance had led me here with this man and even if I was not spending my time the way I had originally intended to.

I took in deep breaths and stared at my reflection in an attempt to ground myself, but the same odd detachment from my own body prevailed and I was forced to look away. I brought all of my brightly coloured bottles to the large white walk-in shower behind the enormous off-white shower curtain, which was the closest thing to a colour I had seen thus far in the washroom.

I twisted the white porcelain faucets labeled H and C respectively, using a heavy hand of the H; I had been absolutely starved for hot water ever since my arrival. The water and steam turned my skin pink with warmth and a tingling sensation overcame my entire body, I felt significantly purified as ridiculous as that may sound.

As I scrubbed away at my arms with coconut body wash the hand that touched my shoulder was not my own and it did not startle me, in fact I didn't even look back to see who it belonged to; it was all too obvious. The hands crept underneath my arms and onto my stomach where they remained stationary.

"What ever happened to sleeping?" I asked him, hoping my eyes no longer showed any signs of the bout of crying I had so recently overcome.

"You didn't say anything about breaking in the shower without me, now did you?" Somehow his breath floating into my ear felt even warmer than the steam that filled the room.

"I suppose I didn't." I smiled, it was nice to have his company again after feeling so isolated from everyone and everything. I turned to him and he laughed at the hickeys that covered my chest; I laughed at his horrendous dark circles and busted up lips.

I wiped away the dried blood from his face and neck with hot water, making my way to his torso which was almost as bloodstained as his clothes had been. Oddly enough Trevor did not seem to have any ulterior motives for coming into the shower with me, perhaps he was simply far too tired for sexual endeavours; I found this incredibly endearing.

After rinsing my hair I turned off the water so that I could divert my attention to Trevor's healing thigh. He had abandoned all of his clothes in a trail throughout the bathroom, leaving specks of mud scattered about the tiles. It was bizarre to see him not covered in miscellaneous substances that had almost become a part of him.

All that was left of Trevor was Trevor, freed from his layers of grime and clothing. I unravelled the dressings I had created around his leg to remove the final barrier between him and I. He played with my hair as I created new bandages for him out of hotel towels that I could trust were clean.

I took him back to bed and he fell asleep almost instantly with his head resting on my stomach and his arms outstretched around my ribcage; he appeared child-like as he slept. I lifted the hair nearest to his neck to reveal an outline of a bird flying just above the dotted line that directed me where to cut. I pitted Trevor; he was a bird with useless wings.


End file.
